


Gift of Exile

by talkstocoyotes



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: Lake Superior, M/M, Metaphysics, duluth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:38:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 83,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkstocoyotes/pseuds/talkstocoyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faced with several unattractive choices, Ennis chooses self-imposed exile and discovers that exile can sometimes lead you to the people you belong to.  Jack plays a role in his life that he hasn't expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Part 1: Changing Horses**

June 1984

 

He wouldn’t have chosen to wear a secondhand suit to his little girl’s wedding, but ranch hands didn’t earn enough to keep themselves in new suits, nor did they have much use for them. And Ennis del Mar didn’t suppose anyone would be looking at him much after he walked Alma, Jr. down the aisle. She was the only one whose opinion counted.

Since he’d told her a few months ago he’d be there at the wedding, roundup or no roundup, he’d gone back and forth between dread and anticipation. Never one to be social at the best of times, Ennis had been consumed by both grief and work for the past year. No clandestine wilderness meetings with Jack to look forward to, and no two-week lapses from work that had made drifting from job to job a reality for so many years. And he had found long hours and working to exhaustion as effective a painkiller as whiskey still was.

But getting time for the wedding had been surprisingly easy. The foreman hadn’t been happy, but “my girl Laurie’s been talkin’ about settin’ a date in October, and I’ll hafta be there whether I want to or not. So I don’t know how I can tell ya no.”

Ennis wasn’t at all sure whether he wanted to or not. He hadn’t given a thought to going back on his word to Alma Jr.; but being at the wedding meant facing his ex-wife Alma and her husband Monroe, even sitting in the front pew next to the two of them. He’d managed to avoid them for a long time now, ever since that Thanksgiving confrontation with Alma in the kitchen of their middle-class home. All the years he’d thought she’d never suspected what was between him and his “fishing buddy” Jack, and she’d thrown her knowledge in his face with venom she’d been storing up for years. Panicked, he’d felt that sourly familiar sensation of mingled nausea, terror and rage, and had come close to punching her. He’d stormed out of the house before the startled Monroe could even say anything to him. The only contact since then had been through the two daughters who were the only good thing to come from his and Alma’s disastrous years together. And now, they’d sit next to each other in the front pew of Riverton’s small Methodist church and he’d have to thank Monroe for catering the reception. _And at that, he’s giving my girl more than I’ve managed to_.

But aside from that, he just wasn’t a man who socialized or made conversation easily. Ennis had always been one to say what he needed to say and that was it: the need most people had to fill gaps between them with talk for the sake of talk had always mystified him.

She’d told him about the wedding not long after he’d returned from Lightning Flat earlier that year, with his and Jack’s shirts, now enshrined just inside the closet door, Jack’s shirt inside of his own bloodstained one. “Jack, I swear”, he’d said shortly after Alma, Jr.’s visit, carefully fastening a top snap just to have a reason to touch all he had left of Jack. In a few days at most, he would unsnap it again. He’d sworn various things on other days, all of them shot through with pain: _I wouldn’t have kept pushing you away. I’d never have let you drive away without me to begin with. I’d do it different if I had another chance, danger be damned_. But this time, after deciding that being with his daughter on the most important day of her life had to come before any job, before his fear of letting too many other people too close: I swear I won’t waste the rest of my life. He was going to walk her down the church aisle, no matter who was looking at him, not matter any awkwardness, not matter what.

The “what” included the pain that had never quite left him since his postcard to Jack was returned marked “Deceased”. It was like a persistent toothache, or an almost-invisible shard of glass in his foot. Sometimes the pain receded a little and sometimes it was close enough that he could see or feel little else. No matter, it never went away; and its sharpest edges were easier to bear than the dull ache of his knowledge that he had helped create so much of it. And he often wondered what it was doing to his mind.

All that anyone at the ranch apparently noticed was that he’d taken no time off in the last year, volunteered for extra work more often, worked extended hours whenever he could. And while Alma, Jr. had called, and stopped by occasionally, she was too consumed with planning her wedding to much notice his loss of weight or the traces of his regular restless nights. But ever since her visit he’d increasingly felt like Jack was right at his elbow; like he’d be able to catch a glimpse of him if he just turned his head fast enough. He didn’t believe in ghosts, never would, he told himself. The erotic dreams he regularly had about Jack, the only sex life he’d had or wanted in the last year, sometimes ended with waking up to sticky sheets but never with Jack in the bed beside him. No; it was just one of the drafts in the trailer that would brush against his hair in a way that reminded him of the way Jack used to nuzzle it. Or the harder wind hitting the trailer at night, sounding like the moaning noises Jack used to make during their lovemaking that still made him hard just to think about.

But there were also the dreams that he didn’t look forward to: the soul-crushing, slow-motion nightmares of watching Jack being mercilessly clubbed to death. Listening to the screams and muted crunching of broken bones, even smelling the blood, and finding that his feet seemed to be set in concrete blocks. And his very throat frozen, unable even to yell at the evil men who would later play with their children, lie with their wives, sit serenely in church on Sunday. With no one in the trailer to wake him up, the dream always had to run its course until he woke sobbing in grief and torment. But in the past few months, he knew he could feel something brush across his face and the top of his head just before full wakefulness released him from the nightmare.

He wasn’t going to think of that today, he told himself as he shut the trailer door and walked toward his battered truck. One appearance at a wedding wasn’t going to make up for the distance he’d kept between himself and his daughters when they were growing up, but Alma Jr. had wanted him to walk her down the aisle, despite all that, not the stepfather who had been there every day since she was 12 years old. She wasn’t going to regret that.

He did not lock the trailer door behind him. There was nothing in it a thief would think worth stealing.


	2. Chapter 2

Turning at the library and heading down Park Street to the United Methodist Church, Ennis knew he would be just barely on time. He also knew that his putting off leaving until the last minute wasn’t unintentional. As parents of the bride, he and Alma could hardly avoid each other, and the reception at the Elks Club would put him through enough awkward moments, not to mention having to make conversation with so many strangers as The Father Of The Bride. Determined as he was to make Alma Jr. glad she’d asked him to give her away, he knew his own limitations.

The remodeled church was not much larger than it had been when he and Alma had said their ill-advised vows two decades ago, but had a foyer and a minister’s office often used as what the congregants called “the bride’s room.” From the foyer, Ennis could hear the subdued chatter from the 100 or so people inside the cool sanctuary. The first person he saw was Monroe, looking slightly older but with the same boyish face, hurrying out of the pastor’s study nearby. “You’re here! Alma wanted me to let her know,” was Monroe’s only greeting before he disappeared behind the door at the other end of the office. In only a few moments the door opened again and Monroe returned with Alma in tow. She had that look of combined elation and irritation common to brides’ mothers, and was more dressed up than Ennis had ever seen her, in a long dark green skirt and long print tunic. Monroe had sold the small grocery to a supermarket chain years ago and now managed it; and Alma’s life as a middle-class wife of a successful businessman seemed to agree with her. 

With them were Junior’s best friend from high school, Cheryl, Curt’s sister Luanne and Jenny, in floating apple-green silk dresses. “Wish me luck, Daddy,” Jenny said, giving him a quick kiss as the music grew a little louder. Straightening her hair one last time and planting a demure expression on her face, she started slowly down the aisle, the maid of honor, behind Luanne and Cheryl.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to show,” Alma said shortly. “We’re ready to start.” Monroe took her arm and the two started down the aisle to the front pew. Glancing at the front of the church, Ennis saw Curt, whom he’d met a few weeks before, already waiting. Curt was as tall as Ennis but bulky-looking, with usually unruly reddish-brown hair and a passion for NASCAR. _She’ll be safe with him_ , Ennis had thought, although “does he love you?” was what was on his mind when Junior had told him about her upcoming wedding. “Daddy?” he heard and turned his head to see his older daughter standing beside him. 

Alma Jr.’s wedding dress was simple and high-waisted, with modest scallops of tiny pearls and crystals on the narrow sleeves and wide hem. But it was her face underneath the gauzy shoulder-length veil, secured by a band of white roses, that startled him. The light passing through the veil cast tiny sparkles on her brown hair like fugitive stars and her dark eyes glowed behind the white mist of fabric. She was suddenly mysterious and removed from him, and he did not hear the first chords of the wedding march behind the door. Junior smiled behind the veil and pressed his arm gently. “Time to go in, Daddy.”

He’d been to enough weddings to know that guests always stood up when the bride entered, but the guests rising and turning in unison to watch them startled him; and he could feel his heartbeat suddenly jump although he knew the guests were interested in Junior rather than him. Junior looked to the bride’s guests on the left, smiling at one familiar face after another; while Ennis managed through a conscious effort to keep head up and eyes directly ahead during the uncomfortably public walk. By the time they reached the front of the small church, he felt like he’d hiked over a razorback ridge in a high wind. The minister launched into a greeting to the guests “gathered together today”, a prayer asking that the Alma and Curt be granted “everything they need, that they may increase in their knowledge of You throughout their life together” and a Scripture reading about love being patient and kind. Ennis was only half listening until he heard the words “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

“ _This woman”? My children!_ He felt the age-old dismay of a parent realizing that a loved child was no longer part of his own orbit but moving off into one of her own. But he remembered his part of the brief rehearsal the night before and managed to say “I do” at least loud enough for the minister to hear. As he started to turn away toward the pew, Junior gave him a sudden unrehearsed hug, whispering “thank you, Daddy”. Unexpectedly shaken, Ennis made the short journey to the front pew and sat down with relief. He and Alma glanced at each other and then quickly looked away, but not quickly enough. Whatever had passed between them over the years, or whatever had not that should have, Alma Jr. and Jenny were the crossroads where their lives were forever linked whether either of them wanted it or not.

The small church organ played the opening phrase of a song as Jenny moved up a step or two to stand next to it, and began to sing an invitation:

“ _Grow old along with me,  
The best is yet to be  
When our time has come  
We will be as one  
God bless our love  
God bless our love_

_“Grow old along with me  
Two branches of one tree  
Face the setting sun  
When the day is done_”

Ennis would have found the words poignant, even painful to listen to, if the feeling of being watched didn’t suddenly overtake him. He told himself that no one was looking at him any longer, they were paying attention to Jenny’s singing; but the instinctive knowledge of eyes focused on him brushed that attempt at self-reassurance aside like an annoying gnat. He had not been aware of it as long as he was standing at the front of the church, where everyone was looking at least toward him if not at him, but now he could feel it: as if a band had been playing and every instrument was suddenly silent except for one playing a single note. Jenny’s song was finished and the minister returned to the ceremony with “let us pray.” 

Ennis had said no prayers for a very long time and he did not do so now; just inclining his head and looking downward with the unfocused, absent-minded stare common to those present but not participating while others prayed. His sensation of being watched only intensified, however, and he was convinced that if he lifted his head and looked around he would see another head lifted, another pair of eyes wide open and locked with his own. It took so much effort to keep from doing just that, he hardly noticed when the prayer ended. The minister asked Alma and Curt to join hands for reciting the marriage vows.

_Jack and I should have said our vows to each other_ , he thought, momentarily forgetting whoever it was who apparently found him so interesting. That summer 21 years ago, with the crows and coyotes as witnesses. After that second night together, with the firelight on his face, when he said “it’s alright” and pulled me into his arms. Alma and Curt faced each other and the minister started reciting the standard words that everyone was already familiar with.

“I, Curt, take you, Alma. . .”

_I, Ennis, take you, Jack. . ._

“to be my wedded wife. . .”

_to be my beloved partner. . ._

Ennis gasped and jumped as he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder; causing both Alma and Monroe to give him puzzled looks. Without thinking, he shifted his weight in the pew and looked around quickly; but Alma’s mother and sister, in the pew behind him, were looking at Alma and Curt.

“to have and to hold from this day forward. . .”

_to have and to hold, from the very beginning. . ._

“for better, for worse. . .”

_for better, for worse. . ._

“for richer, for poorer. . .”

_for richer, for poorer. . ._

Even before the unseen hand slipped down his left arm and clasped his left hand he knew, against all logic and common sense, whose it was. He shifted his left arm slightly so that his forearm was lying flat against Jack’s invisible one.

“in sickness and in health. . .”

_in sickness and in health. . ._

“to love, to honor and to cherish. . .”

_to love, to honor and to cherish. . ._

“till death do us part.”

_till death, and beyond._

He could feel the unmistakable contours of Jack’s hand. Now, however, there were only the borders of the pressure that he felt, and he briefly longed to feel the details of this part of Jack’s now-vanished physical body: the smooth asymmetrical ovals of fingernails, then the comparative roughness of skin with the tiny rivulets that were knuckles and the bigger ones of bones and veins. He had always loved to look at hands. People said that the eyes were the “windows of the soul’ and maybe they were; but the hands were what did the soul’s work in the world that everyone knew. As Curt began to repeat the same vows to Alma, with the ceremonial prompting, he was almost not surprised to hear the echoing voice that seemed to hover in some twilight space between thought and physical hearing.

“I, Alma, take you Curt. . .”

_I, Jack, take you Ennis. . ._

There was no explanation, and no denying it. Ennis closed his eyes and gave himself over to the moment. He could feel an unseen mouth nuzzling his hair, just above his left ear.

“You may kiss the bride,” the minister said.


	3. Chapter 3

The photographer peered through the camera lens long enough that any of the wedding party might have thought he was meditating, or had fallen asleep on his feet. “Jenny, we need you to get up on the steps,” he said. And after another endless pause, “Mr. del Mar, please move a bit to your right. There’s a glare on you from the window.” Ennis complied, impressed by the patience of the women in the wedding party. He and Curt, as well as the best man and the two ushers, had exchanged exasperated glances, convinced that the photographer had been hired specifically to be as annoying as possible. “Wonder if he’d follow us into the crapper,” he’d heard Curt mutter. 

Ennis wasn’t as impatient or irritated as might otherwise have been, however; partly because of his determination to go along with whatever Alma Jr. had decided to do today. But even more, he was so shaken by Jack’s unexpected attendance that he was grateful for any free space in which he did not have to move, speak or even look directly at anyone. There was time enough to figure out later what the hell had happened, and if it had been real or his overstressed imagination. But for now, he passed the time with the obligatory wedding pictures recalling in detail how Jack’s invisible hand had felt in his, the inflections of every whisper; and puzzling over whether he had actually heard Jack’s voice or if it was a memory of it playing back in his head. 

On the short drive to the Elks’ reception hall, he tried whispering his own name at a lower and lower volume until he couldn’t tell whether he was hearing or thinking it, although that didn’t answer his questions. With his mysterious communion with Jack being not even an hour past, trying to make social conversation with strangers – the expected art of chattering easily while saying as little as possible, which he had no talent for – seemed a kind of profanation. 

Driving down the town’s main street to the Elks hall, he glanced over at the laundromat, now a restaurant-supply business’ storage building. He and Alma had lived for most of their marriage in its second-floor apartment. Ennis tried not to look at the outdoor stairway and the recess that hid another stairway but he failed as usual when passing the place, remembering their tumultuous reunion after four years. “ _I remember it too, bud_ ,” he heard – or thought -- Jack whisper as he pulled into the Elks’ parking lot nearby.  
The Elks’ reception hall was decorated with green and white bunting, balloons in the same color scheme and arrangements of dark green ferns, white roses and smaller, feathery white flowers on every table. Next to the wedding cake, the buffet Monroe had catered provided abundant and unpretentious food: platters of fruit and vegetables, dinner rolls fragrant with butter and yeast, sliced meats and cheeses, pastries. Ennis guessed that the two punch bowls would yield nothing alcoholic and he suddenly craved a beer, more than one. 

The first person he saw was K.E. whom he had not seen since his own wedding two decades before. Like himself, K.E. had become more weathered: two tough plants that now had more fibrous stalks and fewer leaves; testimony to years of hard physical work and exposure to Wyoming’s unforgivingly windy climate. Their short conversation was mostly standard phrases rendered awkward by their predictability: _congratulations, thanks, been a long time_. Talk between them had come easily years ago, but their exchanges had been centered around work, and once K.E. had married and Ennis was on his own at age 19, the family bond between them had become brittle and tenuous. 

They’d never spoken of the morning that their father had taken them both, his hand clenched around Ennis’ neck, to see Earl’s wrecked and blood-spattered body. That would remain hidden away in a dark and unholy place that could be cleansed only with remorse and atonement from an unrepentant person long dead. 

Alma and Monroe were making the rounds of the room, stopping for miniature conversations with Junior’s friends and new in-laws, some of whose names they’d have to remember and others who wouldn’t be seen until the next family rite of passage if then; and Ennis tried to brace himself to say what he’d resolved to say to Alma, before he lost his nerve and had to remember that later. The bitterness of the last year had been enough to make him aware of how much he’d regret taking the path of least resistance yet again; but that couldn’t make it something to look forward to. A determination to get it over with as early as possible was the best he could manage. _Do it now, won’t be any easier in ten minutes._

“Monroe”, he nodded to the pleasant-faced if somewhat bland-looking man, who as the manager of the grocery store had seen more of Alma than he had in the last few mostly silent years of their marriage. Both of them turned to look at him, somewhat wary if determinedly civil. “Wanted to thank ya for doing the caterin’. I know Junior appreciates it.” “Glad to do it, Ennis”, Monroe answered cautiously, clearly half-expecting some other shoe to drop. Ennis fixed his eyes on Alma’s face, trying to remember his resolve to look directly at her, but he felt already as if he were sitting in a dentist chair. “I know we’ve had some bad blood between us, Alma.” _Especially that Thanksgiving, ‘Jack Nasty’, five more years after that._ “But I’m glad we’re both here for Junior. She deserves that.” 

_That don’t cover half of it_ , but she wasn’t going to say that at her daughter’s wedding; instead, “thank you, Ennis.” Alma’s face looked no friendlier, but he caught both their astonished expressions as he nodded to them again, grunted a noncommittal “well…” and walked away. Awkward as hell, it was just as uncomfortable as he’d expected but at least it was done. Unsure of what to do next, he stopped at the buffet and poured a cup of over sweetened punch he had no interest in drinking. Glancing toward the small platform that served as a bandstand at the hall’s social gatherings, he suddenly thought he saw Jack, back half turned to him, talking with a middle-aged woman that Ennis had not met.

This had become a familiar and troubling routine, one that had made him doubt his sanity in the past months. He would see a man who was dark-haired with fair skin, or with a long, slender body, or with features that through some trickery of light, the time of day, the angle of the sun between clouds, looked achingly familiar. It didn’t take much. An odd feeling would seize him that he was getting a glimpse of Jack, and that Jack would disappear forever if he glanced away for a second. The only time he could recall anything similar was the weeks after his mother’s death when he’d kept expecting to see her by the stove or sitting on their battered sofa folding laundry, thinking through habit that she was just in the next room. But even that had not lasted for months. 

On one occasion last winter he’d actually followed a dark-haired, blue-eyed man out through a parking lot, realizing what he was doing just as the man sensed someone following him and glanced around. He’d managed to look away in time, to make it to his truck while the other man walked on, unknowing. But he’d sat gripping the steering wheel for several long minutes, waiting for his fear-quickened heartbeat and breathing to get back to normal. Now, as the wedding guest glanced around at him, Ennis saw that this man was no double for Jack. The coloring and height were the same, but if Jack had a coltish body, this man’s was more like an agile man-sized bear’s. The eyes so much lighter in color than Jack’s met his, and Ennis was suddenly conscious of standing alone at his daughter’s wedding reception and staring at a guest he hadn’t met. He glanced around for an escape and saw an elderly woman sitting alone at one of the decorated tables.

Pouring a second cup, he sat down at the table next to her. “Some punch, ma’am?” Sitting with an older lady seemed a safe way to spend a few inconspicuous minutes and figure out how he was going to get through the next few hours. She was a small woman, slender though not particularly fragile looking. “Thank you,” she gave him an immediate smile, “I’m Alexandria Harding, Curt is my great-nephew, and you’re Mr. del Mar, aren’t you?”

Her voice was low and resonant, with a Southern accent redolent of enervating summers, sweet tea and wide front porches, the dominion of an earlier generation. It was not too soft, but pitched just low enough that most listeners had to lean toward her and give full attention to hear. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, your daughter is lovely, Curt is a lucky man. And the girl who sang….””

“Jenny.”

“She’s your youngest, isn’t she?”

Ennis nodded. “Sings in the church choir a lot. And she was in the school musical last year.”

“You must be very proud of both of them.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, “but I’m afraid their mother has to take most of the credit for that.”

They were standard, unremarkable phrases, not much more memorable than those he’d just shared with K.E. But the warmth and interest in both her smile and voice seemed genuine. She had a way of leaning forward and fixing her eyes on his face, voice loud enough to reach his ears but not much further, making him feel like they were alone in the room. “I didn’t know Curt had family in Georgia,” he ventured.

“Oh yes, my sister married a man from Colorado, and later Curt’s parents moved to Laramie. I’m from Macon and have a daughter there, but I live with my other daughter in Augusta, she and my granddaughter are here with me. I haven’t seen Curt in so long, any of our family out West, so I wanted to make the trip for his wedding. My age, you see your family at holidays, weddings, you never know if it’s the last time you’ll see them. At least,” she dropped her voice as if keeping her words from reaching nonexistent eavesdroppers, “that was a pretty good way to talk my daughter into bringing me.”

Ennis smiled at her, without a conscious effort this time. “So we both have two daughters.”

“Oh, I have a son, Kevin… He was killed during the Korean war.” Her eyes looked over his face thoughtfully. “Many years ago, but of course I always remember him as a very young man. You understand.” Ennis immediately thought of Jack, always pictured him now the way he had been that first summer, two decades away to Kevin’s three. “Yes, ma’am, I sure do.”

They were suddenly joined by a blonde woman of about 30, dressed in a bright pink suit. She smiled briefly at Ennis, a smile that was a notable achievement of both practice and dentistry although he thought immediately of his horses’ teeth coated in white paint. The fruity aroma of the cologne she was wearing was neither too strong nor cloying but it seemed to fit her nevertheless: a piece of delectable fruit still sweet and juicy but a little soft here and there, recently overripe. 

“Oh here you are, Gramma,” sitting down on the other side of Alexandria, the younger woman didn’t appear to even notice Ennis. “Well, this has been an interestin’ wedding, thank God I wasn’t one of the bridesmaids, what with those dresses, I mean, why in the world would she pick that shade of green? Made Luanne’s skin look like a piece of cheese somebody forgot in the refrigerator –“

“Charlene,” Alexandria’s voice a little louder now, “I don’t believe you and Mr. del Mar had met. The bride’s father, Mr. del Mar, this is my granddaughter Charlene.” Suddenly wanting to find yet another escape route, Ennis nodded to her. She looked searchingly at him and he was conscious of his older suit, his weathered skin, the age that he knew had crept closer in the last year. “Well, your daughter is just beautiful, Mr. del Mar, I was tellin’ Curt just a few minutes ago.” She gave him another carefully orchestrated smile to match her voice and apparently dismissing him, turned to Alexandria again. “Can you believe the climate here, all that wind? Just two days and my skin feels like old newspaper.”

“I know, dear,” Alexandria said evenly. “It was good of you and your Mama to come with me. I hadn’t seen Curt and Luanne in years, and I’m so glad David decided to come. I haven’t seen him since he moved North.” 

“Just as well he’s here, if you want to see him. I mean, we won’t be seeing David at his wedding anytime soon, not unless they change the laws and Nathan comes back to life.” 

“That’s none of your business, Charlene,” Alexandria said in a low, warning voice but Ennis scarcely heard. He looked down at the table, his face feeling too warm and his stomach slightly queasy. 

“Mama, I need you and Charlene to come with me,” a brisk woman’s voice said. She looked like an older version of Charlene but had an aura of authority about her. Ennis would have been reminded of some of the ladies he’d met at the few church events Alma had talked him into years ago, but all he could see was the man who was with her, the same man he’d half-mistaken for Jack a few minutes ago. “David was telling me the photographer is still here,” the woman continued to Alexandria, “and he suggested we have our pictures taken with Curt and the bride. Three generations.”

“ _Not unless they change the laws and Nathan comes back to life_ ”…. For a terrible moment, the old terror and nausea started to overcome him. One hand gripped the seat of the chair he was sitting on hard enough that his fingers ached; the old slapdown voice, struggling to override his pledges to Jack, started to work its way up: _he knows in a minute everybody will know get it away from you now or you’ll catch it, queer faggot it was just Jack…_ Mechanically, he pushed himself up out of the chair, heard only a few words of the introduction, “my daughter Carol,” a quick handshake and then there was no avoiding it, David with his hand politely extended. Ennis took it briefly and for a moment he could feel every cell of his own right hand, clasping a man’s hand that was so different from Jack’s, a little darker and with short, blunt fingers, oddly like a surgeon’s hands.

There were other differences, he saw now. Jack’s long narrow face and features seemed to have been carved by an expert sculptor, where David’s, with its squarish shape, broad cheekbones and slightly pointed chin, had been assembled with great care. His eyes were as arresting as Jack’s, though not because of intense blueness or long black eyelashes. They were light gray, deep set but contrasting so emphatically with heavy dark eyebrows and skin slightly darker than Jack’s as to look like pale eyes on a dark-colored cat.

“It’s been lovely talking with you, Mr. del Mar.” Alexandria’s soft voice again, as she collected her small ladylike pocketbook. “David, it was thoughtful of you to think of that.” “Sure, Gramma Alex, be sure an’ send me a copy.” Ennis realized that he was sitting again, watching them walk away. He glanced warily over at David next to him and was surprised to see amusement in the other man’s face.

“Well, I guess you owe me one. I saw you over here lookin’ like you were drownin’.” 

Ennis grunted noncommittally, and David went on as if Ennis had bombarded him with questions. “Actually, my grandmother, Gramma Alex we’ve always called her, she’s my favorite relative. And my aunt Carol, she’s okay, a bit bossy but every family needs somebody like that. I’m just glad she’s my aunt and not my mother. But my cousin Charlene – well, she looks older than the last time I saw her, but she never really changes. She was Miss Bibb County and got to the Miss Georgia finals when she was 19, and never quite got over it. I’ve wanted to ask Larry, that’s her husband, if she wears her tiara when they’re in bed together, but he’d probably whup me upside the head.” 

To his own surprise Ennis laughed, a very brief and rusty-sounding laugh that came out of him like a sudden unexpected sneeze. This man had at least one thing in common with Jack: conversation with him was easy, as he didn’t wait for Ennis to talk; just took the bit in his mouth and ran with it. There was nothing but friendly interest in either his face or voice, but remembering Charlene’s remark, Ennis reflexively glanced around to see if anyone was noticing anything about them sitting together, that brand on his forehead that he so often thought everyone could see. But oddly, in the next moment, he felt himself relaxing a little for the first time that day, feeling like he’d walked into a home that was familiar enough to sling his coat over the back of a chair or get his own beer from the refrigerator. “So, uh, you’re here with them?” 

“Nope, I grew up in Georgia, in Macon, but I’ve lived in Minnesota for years now. Duluth. I’m one of those relatives you only see at weddings and funerals, never been to Wyoming before, though.” David glanced around the room. “Boring as hell, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know…” Ennis managed to answer, but he did. “Yeah. Yeah it is. But my daughter – I got off work for it this week.” “Sure, that’s how family is.” David hesitated cautiously, feeling his way. “I saw you looking at me earlier, kinda like you wanted to ask me something. Can’t tell ya much about Curt, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen him since he was a kid.”

Ennis looked away, old habit taking over, suddenly wondering how much he did give away every time he saw someone who reminded him of Jack. “No,” he answered haltingly, “you just, uh -- you kinda looked like somebody. . . .But…” 

“Dad!” Jenny’s sudden appearance rescued Ennis from having to go on. “The music’s startin’ up. You’ve gotta be the first to dance with the bride, Junior sent me to get you!” Grinning at Ennis sympathetically, David stood up at the same time Ennis did. “Your turn now, I guess.” 

The small band on the speaker’s platform at one end of the hall played “For All We Know”, not exactly a foot-tapping dance tune. “I know you’re not much for dancin’ Daddy,” Alma Jr. said as they walked to the middle of the space in front of the stand whose borders were defined by the circle of wedding guests. “Well, maybe today’s different, darlin’ “, but Ennis was a little relieved. He briefly recalled the afternoon Cassie had dragged him to the Black and Blue Eagle Bar’s dance floor: smartly gyrating across from him while he shuffled stiffly and self-consciously from side to side. Shoving that memory off to one side, he took one of Junior’s hands and held it as if it was made of thin crystal, and rested the other one on her waist. She had taken off the transforming veil, but her thick reddish-brown hair so like his mother’s had been gathered into some kind of confection on the back of her head with a few curls trailing before her ears. 

Cautiously, he moved back and forth, forward and back in slow, random steps and Junior followed him effortlessly, her awareness of how uncomfortable he was almost second nature by now. Her father’s life always seemed to have been shot through with fear, longing and sadness. From her earliest memories, she had been aware of it though she’d also sensed that the cause was something outside their father-daughter bond. It had made her ever protective of her father, inclined to make small things easier for him whenever it was in her power.

“How are you doing, darlin’?” he asked. “Are you havin’ the wedding you wanted?" It had seemed to him during her brief visits and phone calls of the past six weeks that some emergency or big decision constantly came up, and he would have been amazed if anyone had told him this was a small semi-formal wedding. “It’s been great, Daddy.” Junior smiled up at him. “You have, too.” _For once I didn’t disappoint her._

The rest of the reception had been less difficult than he’d expected. Jenny had taken his arm right after the song ended and Curt had taken his place with Junior for the next dance. “Walk around with me awhile, Daddy,” she urged and Ennis didn’t notice the glance she and Junior exchanged: a cue successfully picked up. She took him from table to table, group to group, introducing him and making easy conversation so that he had only to look attentive most of the time. “Junior’s getting ready to leave, Daddy,” she said finally. 

The unmarried females gathered in front of Junior for the ritual bouquet toss, which got slightly off-kilter for a moment when Junior turned her back, tossed the fragile bundle over her head too high. It hit the ceiling and plummeted to the floor like a stone, with good-natured laughter around the room as Junior retrieved it and hastily tossed it to the waiting group. Luanne caught the prize, and Junior and Curt headed out the door. Curt’s car had a few coffee cans tied to the back with string and had been decorated by friends with JUST MARRIED and SHE GOT HIM TODAY, HE’LL GET HER TONIGHT, bawdy remnants of old fertility symbols and the tribe gathered at the bridal chamber making raucous noise to keep evil spirits away. Ennis stood staring after it as it rattled away, feeling the full weight of things long left undone.

“Had enough a this?” He’d not noticed the other guests filing back into the reception hall, or David standing beside him. “Don’t know about you but I want somethin’ more than ginger ale and fruit juice. Show me where the nearest bar is, I’ll buy us a few beers.”

Oddly, Ennis now found himself in no hurry to go home. The elation over his contact with Jack had faded a bit, and he now felt a nudging anxiety that it had just been his stressed and grief-colored imagination. Despite the echoing loneliness of most of his life, Ennis was still part of a civilization that had made the phrase _there’s a logical explanation for everything_ an article of faith; with degrees of heresy assigned to contrary impressions that were as precise as, though considerably more superstitious than, the principles of medieval alchemy. He could not quite escape a sudden fear of listening and waiting but hearing nothing but the inescapable wind outside the trailer, feeling nothing more ethereal than his own clothes against his own skin. 

“Sure,” he answered. “My truck’s right over there, just follow me. It ain’t far.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was still early but Ennis had known the Black and Blue Eagle would be busy. Riverton had grown a little since he and Alma had gotten married but it was a hard time to start a new business there right now, with the economy the way it was and more ranches folding, some bought up by absentee owners. Good times had come and gone, and there were still few other places to go on Saturday night. As he got out of his truck and watched David close the door of his anonymous-looking rental car, Ennis wondered how the hell he’d gotten into this: two men walking into the bar together and wearing suits at that. And one of “them….”

_Queer._ Say it. David’s cousin Charlene might not be anyone he’d want to spend even a few hours with but she’d made it clear in just two sentences. And he’d never been that, never had anything goin’ with any man but Jack. _But Jack had…. You been to Mexico, Jack? … another one’s goin a come up here … some ranch neighbor a his from down in Texas._ He walked through the bar making an effort to not look at anyone but threw a longing glance at a table in the corner, wondering if they’d attract less attention there or just look like they wanted to be alone with each other. David slid onto a barstool before he had a chance to find out, too late. Sitting at the bar, Ennis felt like a car dealership spotlight was only ten feet away and shining directly on them.

“Hey Ennis, lookit you – almost didn’t know ya wearin’ a suit. Who’s your friend?” it was Vickie, owner of the place since her husband had died, she’d been here more than one Saturday night lately; sometimes out here talking to employees and customers and sometimes going through the tiny office in back, drawer by drawer. “Not friends, ma’am, cousins, as of a couple a’ hours ago anyway.” David answered before Ennis could even react, and it seemed like his Southern accent was suddenly stronger. “Ennis’ daughter got married this afternoon, prettiest bride I’ve seen in awhile. Things were startin’ to wind down, and we just needed somethin’ stronger ta drink than punch with lime sherbet.”

Vickie laughed and called to Roy, washing glasses at the other end of the bar, for two beers. “First ones on the house, nobody’s daughter gets married every day” she said. The searchlight had at least dimmed, more quickly than Ennis had thought it could. “So you’re from out of state?” she asked David.

“Yes ma’am, I live in Minnesota now but I’m a good ol’ boy from Georgia. Macon,” David answered. “Never been this far west before.” He pulled a few dollar bills out of his pocket. “Would you have some change? I’d like some music with the beer, don’t seem to have any quarters.”

His drawling voice sounded affable and a little coaxing, but not blatant or aggressively salesman-friendly. He was leaning a little toward her, smiling slowly, eyes narrowed a little and focused on her face, but not getting too close, staying a respectful enough distance so that the impression was more of sociable interest than a conscious attempt to charm. Ennis found it oddly familiar, remembering his short conversation with David’s grandmother earlier. She’d had the same trick in conversation of seeming to pull the other person closer to her, by briefly seeming to draw an invisible and private circle around both of them. Pocketing the change Vickie gave him, David nodded to Roy as he put their drinks on the counter, went over to study the selections on the jukebox. He dropped some coins in, punched in a selection, and Lynyrd Skynyrd started with “Sweet Home Alabama.”

“Skipped the roundup, Ennis?” Ken Heiman was sitting on the other side, his usual place now that he was on disability and it seemed hardly worth it to look for anything else, not with the economy the way it was; so little to choose from for a ranch hand as far removed from being young as Ennis was. “Yeah, it was that or miss my girl’s wedding,” Ennis answered as David came back. As if giving him a reminder his lower back gave him a slight nudging ache and he shifted on the stool slightly.

“ _In Birmingham they love the gov’nor_  
Now we all did what we could do  
Now Watergate does not bother me  
Does your conscience bother you?  
Tell the truth”

“D’you say you were from Macon?” Roy asked. “Man, I went through high school listenin’ to Skynyrd, and the Allmans too. Did you know them in Macon? Any a’ those Capricorn people?” “Nah, they got there just as I went off to school, learnin’ the family business,” David answered. “But we hung out in a lot of the same places.” He glanced toward Ennis but down at the counter for a few seconds. 

“So you do ranch work?” He glanced back up at Ennis before the evasion was fully noticed. Both Ken and Roy laughed. “For as long as I’ve known him!” Vickie answered. “How long, Ennis?” “Since I was 15,” Ennis told David. “About a year after my folks died. Worked at just about every ranch around here, it’s startin’ ta catch up with me, too. Back, legs, shoulders, you name it.” 

“More ‘n that catchin’ up with all of us,” Ken remarked glumly, just as two of the pool players came to the bar for refills. A spirited discussion started about the number of ranches closing down, the increase in absentee owners, the capriciousness of rainfall. On the jukebox, Ronnie Van Zant started singing about Curtis Low.

“ _Play me a song Curtis Loew, hey Curtis Loew_  
I wish that you was here so everyone would know.  
People said he was useless, them people all are fools  
‘Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues.”

“Hardly remember the first time I was ever on a horse. You ever ride?” The three generations of David’s family that had been at the wedding, the suit not secondhand like Ennis’, his ability to casually fly across several states just for a cousin’s wedding; all spoke of a cavernous gap between their backgrounds; so he wasn’t expecting David’s affirmative answer. “Oh yeah. Haven’t been on a horse in awhile but I rode a lot growin’ up. My best friend’s parents, they had a place north of Atlanta. Used to spend weekends up there, go up a lot in the summer.” He hesitated and then gave Ennis a slow, amused smile as if anticipating the reaction. “Not the kind of saddles y’all use out here, though. I learned on an English saddle, and the way you ride with those is way different.”

“You mean those little leather pancakes things? Shit, what kinda ridin’ is that?” said one of the pool players. “Actually, I always d’ rather ride bareback.” David glaced from the pool player back at Ennis. “But when you’re a kid, well you hafta learn what they teach you, and that was English.”

“You goin’ back home right away?” Vickie asked suddenly. “No ma’am, got a few days yet,” David answered her, “thought s’long as I was comin’ all the way out here, I’d do some sightseeing.” “Well, that’d be a shame, your first trip out West and you don’t get to do any ridin’. Ennis, why don’t you give him a few lessons? You’ve got a couple a’ days off, right? An’ you did a great job teachin’ my boys to ride a few years back.”

With five pairs of eyes suddenly on him, Ennis nodded, unable to think of a way to say no to the suggestion and not altogether sure he wanted to. “We c’n do that. You said I owed ya one.” 

Vickie started telling David about her two sons, both of them now working down near Casper, and Ennis was half-listening, but the other half of his attention turned to the third song David had punched, this one an Allman Brothers song:

“ _Crossroads, would you ever let him go? ...no, no._  
Oh will you hide the dead man's ghost?  
Or will he lie beneath the clay?  
Will his spirit roll away?

_But I know that he won’t stay...  
..without Melissa._ ”

He was suddenly back in the hardscrabble family cemetery at Lightning Flat, holding the reliquary that Jack’s mother had just given him. Looking down at the small plaque they’d ordered – no heavy carved headstones for people struggling just to hang onto their land another season. Thinking of what ashes were left of the body he’d escaped to and browsed through so many times imprisoned in this desolate place, occasionally lit up by flashes of the frequent lightning that had provided its name. Or, for that matter, the other half crushed beneath a slab of stone in Texas. He’d last heard that song in this same bar, the day that Cassie had first approached him, when there had still been time, when he could have avoided these agonized inventories of time and place and words spoken or unspoken that could have meant salvation.

Absorbed as he was in the now-familiar pain, he almost though not quite jumped when David touched his arm lightly. “It’s been a long day, you about ready to leave?” The voice sounded neutral, if slightly weary; but there was an awareness in the gray eyes, something that had seen his change of mood.

“Hey,” he said once they were out in the parking lot. “I know you hadn’t been plannin’ to spend tomorrow giving somebody riding lessons. If you have something else you were gonna do….” 

“No, it’s a’right, you wanna come over in the morning?”

“It’ll have to be afternoon”, David answered. “I’ve gotta duty breakfast tomorrow morning with those ladies you met, they’ve got a plane back to Atlanta in the afternoon. Gramma Alex is gonna expect a full report. How ‘bout noon?”

Ennis gave him directions to the trailer, which David wrote down. “Give me your phone number too, willya? Just in case I don’t get away in time, or get lost.” Ennis hesitated, his lifelong habit of letting people know as little about him as possible kicking in automatically but also almost forgetting he had a telephone. He rarely used it, but Alma Jr. and Jenny had both insisted he get one not long after he got back from Lightning Flat, “just in case.” “Sure”, he said reluctantly, giving the number and adding “see ya tomorrow then. You got somethin’ ta put on to ride in?”

Back at the motel, David made a number of quick phone calls, and then dialed a number he knew by heart, 

“Hey, Doctor D. How was the wedding?”

“Interesting in spots. Some of the Augusta clan showed up, Gramma Alex, my aunt Carol, Charlene.”

“How festive. Did the bride tear Charlene’s hair out?”

“Never got close, but no wedding’s perfect.”

“That’s the truth. What’s up?”

“Gotta ‘nother favor to ask you, Maggie, I’m staying over a few days. Can you pick me up Tuesday night instead? 9 o’clock? Somebody offered to take me horseback riding tomorrow. Never used a Western saddle before, that’ll be new.”

“No problem. So…. what’s he like?”

“What’s who like?”

“Your new guy.”

“There’s no new guy, just somebody giving me a few riding lessons.”

“A few puns come to mind, but I won’t use 'em. So, this is an old guy taking you riding? Sorta like Walter Brennan with a horse trailer?”

“Well, no….”

“About your age, right? Tall, light hair?”

“Maggie, there’s nothing like that goin’ on.”

“Yeah, you’re probably telling me the truth, too bad. You’re only 36, for God’s sake. Are you waiting for it to shrivel up and fall off so you can have it bronzed?” 

“Oh Maggie, _quit_.” They were veering into a conversation repeated more than a few times the past two or three years.

“Ah, you know I can’t resist you when you go all Southern on me, Doctor D. ‘ _Quee-yut!’_ “

David laughed, knowing that she’d taken her shot. “So you don’t mind Tuesday?”

“Of course not.” There was a brief silence at the other end. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I can think of lots of reasons but not right now. Give the horse a kiss for me. An’ I wanta know all about this guy you’re staying over for but aren’t interested in.”

“See you later, Maggie.”

The trailer seemed different, barer somehow, than when he’d left it hours ago although nothing was missing. Ennis hung the suit in the closet, ready for another wedding or funeral whenever that might be, picked up one sleeve of the shirts on the door and held it for a long time, his thumb rubbing the worn cuff of Jack’s blue sleeve underneath his own. The close feeling, the sensation that Jack was just out of his sight but close beside him, came back. Nothing could or would explain away what had happened earlier that day.

It wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet but he was suddenly exhausted. Undressing and then stretching out on the narrow, chaste bed, he was almost not surprised to feel the contours of a back and shoulders next to him, not as definite as in the church that afternoon, hardly more than a stillness or denseness in the air. But it was enough, and he turned on his side to move closer.

“Good night, Jack,” he murmured as sleep crept over him.


	5. Chapter 5

Ennis spotted a line of trees that he knew meant a watercourse, and shade. “Over there, looks like a good place for a break,” he said; adding “reins, David.” “Uh, sorry.” David shifted the reins that he had absently taken in both hands to his left as the horses broke from a fast trot to a leisurely canter. That had been hard for him to remember yesterday, and he’d also occasionally just pulled back with his left hand instead pulling them shorter with his right.

Though Ennis had spent much of his life on horseback, yesterday afternoon had been as much an education for him as his student. David had almost fallen off once before Ennis had found out he was used to holding onto the horse with his lower legs rather than the knees. And though he’d watched some Olympic horse events on television a few years back, he’d listened with disbelief to David’s description of “posting”: standing up and sitting down in the saddle when the horse moved at a trot. “It’s easy when you get used to it,” David had assured him. “You move to the horse’s rhythm, and you get to where you just do it without thinking.”

But by the end of Sunday afternoon, David was accustomed enough to the unfamiliar saddle that Ennis could tell that he was a horseman, all right. He shifted his weight and posture subtly but constantly as the horse moved; adjusting to the animal’s gait, the terrain and whether they were going uphill or downhill. The movement was more than adjustment: it was a part of that mutual horse-rider space, something that could not be taught. Someone who could not develop it unconsciously could take riding lessons for years and never be a true rider.

A little further downstream a bank sloped down sharply, and trees were a little thicker and the dappled shade a little deeper. After watering and tethering the horses, Ennis sat down on an old log and David on the bank, feet resting on the level ground. Ennis produced a flask of whiskey and somewhat to his surprise David pulled a joint out of the top of his right sock. He lit it after taking a swallow of the flask that Ennis offered, and held it toward him with a questioning lift of his hand.

As they passed the flask and joint between them, Ennis breathed in the burning-sage aroma and recalled the last evening with Jack when they had done exactly the same thing. Except on that night, he and Jack had laid out their half-truths for each others’ inspection: Ennis’ half-hearted affair with the waitress in Riverton and Jack’s risky trysts with the ranch foreman’s “wife”. When Jack had suddenly said “truth is, sometimes I miss you so much I can hardly stand it”, Ennis had looked away, not taken the chance, one of the last choices of that kind he would have.

“Don’t Bogart that joint, Ennis.” David was leaning toward, him, light gray eyes suddenly arresting in the dimmed light. “Sorry,” Ennis handed it to him and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

In only two days they were already at ease with each other, talking unselfconsciously about horses, camping, each others’ work lives. David had told Ennis about his camping and wilderness supply business and Ennis had described the seasonal rhythms of ranch work. And David did not seem at all bothered by Ennis’ sparseness in conversation. The silences that occasionally fell between them were companionable ones, like those between friends who had a long history behind them and didn’t need to fill in every gap with talk.

David was looking at the mountain peaks in the distance. “Those are the Wind River mountains, you said? We’ve got mountains in Minnesota, Georgia too; nothing like those, though.” “S’right,” Ennis answered, adding, “you said you were gonna do some sightseein’ those extra days. Guess my takin’ you ridin’ means you won’t be able ta see any of the mountains here.” 

“I’m not complaining” David answered. “I hadn’t been on a horse in years, and I’d rather be ridin’ around outdoors than lookin’ at scenery from a car window. When I was growin’ up, my daddy took me and my brother on camping trips, fishing trips. Up in the north Georgia mountains mostly, though we went to the Okefenokee a few times, camped out with the ‘gators. Of course,” he added with somewhat studied casualness, “Nathan went too after he came to live with us, but I don’t think he liked it as much. Even though he was better ‘n me at fishing, tyin’ knots, settin’ up tents.”

“He was family? Thought you said he was your best friend,” Ennis asked. It was David’s first mention of Nathan. In one part of his mind, Ennis didn’t want to hear about it but the part that was curious about this man who might have more in common with him than anyone else he knew had subtly gotten the upper hand. 

“He was, but he was my parents’ godson too,” David answered. “That’s usually just a ceremonial thing, but Nathan’s daddy had all the paperwork and all the lawyers to make it legal. Nathan and me were born in the same hospital on the same day, that’s how they all met. Every summer when I was a kid I spent a lot of time in Atlanta and Nathan visited us in Macon, and then there were holidays. Used to ride up at their country place, it’s pretty built up now but in those days there were still even some covered bridges around. The horses were all sold after his parents were killed, and we’d rent horses once in awhile after that, but it wasn’t as regular as before. I don’t remember us ever riding after we started college.”

“My folks was killed in an accident,” Ennis ventured. “Car accident. They went off the road, the only curve in 43 miles and not far from home. Never did find out exactly how it happened. I was 13.”

“Bad age for that to happen.”

“There ain’t no good age for it ta happen.”

“That’s a fact. So what happened, you went to live with relatives?”

“No, I had a brother two years older’n me, sister 3 years older. The bank got the ranch, we spent the next few years in a cramped little place in town. That’s why I started workin’ when I was 14, never stopped.”

David took a cautious sip of the whiskey and looked at him speculatively. “You musta had to grow up fast.” 

“Yep, sure did,” Ennis answered but he wanted to hear more of what sounded to him like a story from another world. “So was that what happened to Nathan’s folks? They in a car accident too?”

“No, but it ended the same way, I can tell you that,” David answered grimly. “Nathan and me were both 14. I remember wakin’ up that morning, hearing my mama cryin’ in the next room and Daddy saying get up, get dressed, we’ve gotta get up to Atlanta right away.” He inhaled from the joint again and then drank from the flask, a long swallow rather than a sip this time. Then he told Ennis about Nathan’s family and its abrupt destruction on a sunny June morning in Paris.

 

_Tom Howell was a disappointed man. In high school he had been a football and track star, but in his freshman year at Georgia Tech a knee injury ended his football career before it began. His and Sheila’s disappointments with their marriage had resulted in only one child and in separate bedrooms, but he had no disappointments about his lifestyle or what his marriage had done for his insurance business._

_Before her marriage, Sheila Dorman Howell had spent only two years as an art major at Emory University, during which she’d discovered that she had almost no ability to create art but an unerring eye for its quality. Her failure to graduate did not disturb her family: it was the era when jokes about girls attending college to get an “M.R.S.” degree were commonplace. Sheila had been born into a family whose name, in Atlanta, meant “old” money, and a great deal of it. She opened a small art gallery, one of the places to go if one’s income and taste in decorating ran to expensive art; but entertaining was her great talent. “There’s people all over Atlanta who know each other just from meeting up at Sheila’s parties,” David’s mother had often said. Through these occasions Tom quickly assembled a comfortable number of well-off clients; people who had the money and need for, and interest in, something beyond basic coverage for car accidents and visitors slipping on their porch steps._

_For Tom and Sheila Howell, as for the other Atlantans on the cultural tour of Europe in spring of 1962, it had been a memorable two weeks. They had hiked through the Louvre and other destinations for artistic pilgrims and had enjoyed the cuisine of both France and Italy, at a time when most Americans’ knowledge of either was limited to French toast and canned spaghetti. Over breakfast the morning they were to return to Atlanta, they had compared notes on artworks they’d all bought: some intended as gifts and others for personal collections and artistic booty to be shown off in galleries like Sheila’s._

_The Boeing 707 chartered jet waited on the tarmac at Orly Field airport, right across the Seine River. In an era when propeller-driven planes were the standard for most commercial air travel it stood out on the field, a sleek heron in the company of plump laying hens._

_Taking off in a jet, with the feeling of being pulled backward as the plane picked up speed, was still a novelty to air travelers. They heard the characteristic high-pitched whine from the 707’s Pratt and Whitney engines as it steadily accelerated down the runway, and could see the floor tilting upward as the plane’s nose lifted, expecting to feel the slight bump and then a smooth glide as the wheels left the runway pavement. A second later, they were thrown violently forward against their seat belts as the front of the plane abruptly flopped down. Something had gone terribly wrong._

_Because of a motor failure, only the nose of the jet had left the ground, dragging the rest behind it; and the pilot realized he would have to abort the takeoff, with only one-third of the runway length in front of him. Immediately he both braked and raised the flaps, and as the plane fishtailed back and forth like a car making a too-quick turn on an icy road, the friction turned the plane’s tires into odorous smoke almost instantly. Throwing a shower of sparks, the plane rolled on the bare rims for a few moments but these collapsed just as the plane left the runway. It skidded and belly-flopped across a greenbelt area, the impact jolting spines and necks in the passenger cabin and ripping off pieces of the plane with every blow._

_With engines still going full tilt, it sounded now to people on the tarmac like the disintegrating aircraft was shrieking in agony. The tail section came loose and hit the ground, with three flight attendants inside, and the left undercarriage tore off. At the field’s boundary, only one engine left now, the plane had still not stopped: its momentum yanked it across the access road at the airport’s edge and slammed it hard into the landing lights. The impact tore off the left engine and the remnants of the landing gear, with little left intact now other than the battered wings and the fuselage._

_Past the landing lights was a steep, grassy hill ending at the Seine, with a long-abandoned stone cottage halfway down. Tumbling and bouncing down the hill, the dismembered plane and its fragile human cargo collided with the building and shattered like a hollow eggshell, jet fuel igniting in a massive fireball that incinerated everyone inside within seconds._

_Two of the flight attendants in the tail section were the only survivors and of the 130 people who died, all but a dozen or so were from Atlanta. Across the ocean in Georgia, over 30 children had lost both parents and Nathan was among them._

 

“Damn,” Ennis was picturing the tumbling and exploding plane, and the terror of the people inside in their last seconds. “All them details – Nathan knew ‘em too?” “Every one,” David answered. “Some of the newspaper stories even talked outright about the people being ‘incinerated’. That was one of the worse plane crashes in history at the time, got lots of publicity all over, and of course in Atlanta it was something you couldn’t escape at all for awhile. Reporters callin’ at all hours, knockin’ on the door at his aunt and uncle’s house, stories on the news about the Mayor goin’ to Paris to identify bodies…. We were stayin’ nearby, drove up to Atlanta right away.

“But there wasn’t anything we could do about that. You know how when somebody dies, it seems kinda strange that people you see on the street, at work, in stores, are just goin’ about their business like nothin’ happened? Feels heartless at the time but in a way it helps, reminds ya that everything’s still there, still in place. But with this, there wasn’t any getting’ away from it. Nathan said, a long time later, it was like you’re freezin’ all of a sudden and somebody’s un-invented fire.”

Ennis wondered how many years Nathan had lived after that, and the thought flickered through his head, the barest and most tentative hope, that this might be the one person who would understand about Jack. He had no intention of mentioning Jack to this near-stranger, but just that recognition was like taking a long deep breath after spending hours in a windowless room with stagnant air.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” David said suddenly. “We’re out ridin’ on a beautiful day, and here I am talkin’ about plane crashes. I guess it’s been on my mind lately, it was exactly 22 years ago last week.”

Ennis thought for a moment. “Hey, you really ride bareback sometimes, like ya said last night?”

“Sure, when I was growin’ up anyway. Why, you thought I made it up?”

Ennis gave him a sidelong glance. “Well, they were kinda givin’ you a hard time about your ridin’ last night,” he said a little archly. 

David took the bait, as he had guessed. “Well, they’re your horses but I can prove it if you don’t believe me.” Ennis gestured toward David’s horse, and David immediately started undoing the saddle, struggling with the unfamiliar straps and buckles.

“Here…” Ennis walked up next to him and quickly unfastened the saddle. Standing on slightly sloping ground their feet touched and their arms and shoulders brushed against each other; and Ennis glanced over to find David already looking closely at him.

When they’d met two nights before they had both been wearing suits, with the conventional dark heavy fabric serving its intended function of smoothing out the slopes and angles of male bodies. Now they were both wearing jeans, Ennis in the type of snapped cotton shirt he’d worn since his teens and David in a sweatshirt, a garment Ennis had never worn but which suddenly seemed improbably sensual to him. The sleeves were pushed up slightly, enough to show the light growth of fine dark hair on the wrists above the squarish but fine-boned hands with their short spatulate fingers. Ennis did not look down, but during their side-by-side rides he had already noticed, with awareness of it only half-surfacing, the compact legs and slightly rounded buttocks. He suddenly wanted more than anything to slide his hand under the soft fabric and up David’s back and then down again. His thoughts would have progressed further than that, but the realization in the same moment of his stiffening cock and of David frozen with one hand on the saddle, looking back at him, stopped them in their tracks.

“I’ll do it.” David’s voice sounded somewhat shaky despite the casual words, but he turned and pulled the saddle off the horse’s back. There was no anger nor fear nor hostility in his manner, just a hand put out to stop a slowly swinging door from opening any further.

Ennis untethered his own horse, the familiar action dispelling the momentary sense of the world having shifted subtly and of his suddenly being in some alien realm with all signs written in unreadable languages. He swung himself up into the saddle and David stepped on the high end of the log to vault onto his horse’s back. “Over t’ that fence and back?” he suggested as they rode back out in the sunlight, pointing to a single tree a hundred yards or so away. Ennis nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to answer at that moment, and they urged their horses into a canter.

Shaken as he was, he couldn’t resist glancing over. David’s legs were clinging to his horse’s flanks as if he were shinnying up a fleshy tree, leaning back very slightly, his pelvis rocking rhythmically back and forth with the horse’s three-time gait. He glanced over at Ennis and smiled triumphantly: “told ya!” Ennis nodded, but did not look over at him again until they reached the tree.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few months were among the most confusing and conflicted of Ennis’ life.

He knew what would have happened if David hadn’t turned away when he had, recognized the gathering storm in him and the point when lightning was going to strike, no two ways about it. They’d have been on the ground together next to that stream, doing another kind of riding, in another few seconds. David had not acted any differently for the rest of their ride; but Ennis had been grateful it was already late in the afternoon. And it was nothing to be so unsettled about anyway, he told himself: David had left the next morning without their seeing each other again and it wasn’t likely they ever would.

His affair with Jack had balanced on such fragile, shaky scaffolding built around his determination that he wasn’t queer, _no_ way. His father, the first man he’d ever known, would have killed him for that, there was no better evidence of it being something to fear, to loathe and avoid no matter what. But only two weeks with Jack on Brokeback Mountain so many years ago had seemed to change that. _Couldn’t be_ , it wasn’t an attraction to any other men in the world, just that one thing with Jack, all he had ever wanted anyway. Even with women, Alma was the only girl he’d ever kept company with. The times he’d spent with Jack on their camping trips over those 20 years happened in their own carefully constructed world, something apart where they made their own rules with no one to see them: a world with its own customs, language, even diet. Ennis had heard the word “ghetto” only when it was misused on television to mean “slum”, so he could not have seen this evidence of how insidiously attractive ghettos can be as a fortress against a hostile world where the ghetto dwellers are always outsiders.

He hadn’t heard nor felt Jack again since that day he and David had gone riding. Not surprising, he’d thought with wry glumness, just two days since he and Jack had said vows to each other at that wedding and he’d had a hard-on for another man. But Ennis still had that odd feeling of Jack’s presence, still the sensation that just a little more vigilance on his part, or carelessness on Jack’s, and he would catch him out. The occasional erotic dreams about Jack had returned, and one morning he’d wakened to a realization that he’d even been dreaming about David though the memory of the dream had faded as soon as he’d started thinking about it. It was that phone call, he thought, though there was nothing in the conversation even his father couldn’t hear.

He’d forgotten giving David his phone number; was expecting to hear Junior’s voice on the phone when it rang. It had been a short, routine-sounding exchange, David asking if Junior and Curt were getting settled. “She’s still fixin’ up their place,” Ennis had told him. “Curt’s job, it takes him away from home a lot.” He was seeing more of Junior nowadays, had dinner at her house at least once a week. She and Curt seemed very affectionate when Curt was there, but Junior had some adjusting to do with his being away so much, her plans for married life hadn’t included that. “He calls at least every other day, Daddy, but you know phone calls aren’t the same,” she’d said one evening when they’d had dinner in town together.

He knew he could hang up and David would not likely call him again. But David was almost a thousand miles away, he thought afterward, no worry about his losing control during a phone call. Besides, his reaction had been all his own doing, and David hadn’t tried to take the advantage of that moment like he could have. And a long-distance call after all, that no one else could hear, wouldn’t even show up on his bill if anyone cared to look at it….

But his waking fantasies about Jack were the most unsettling new development. These were nothing new in a sense; Ennis had spent many an evening and Sunday morning in the last year reliving their more passionate encounters, even adding to and editing some of them. But these had all been in the same settings where they’d always met: out in the middle of nowhere with a tent for a shelter, campfire for warmth and sleeping bags on the ground as their conjugal bed. Now, the setting had drastically changed and the events were far more varied, if sometimes more commonplace.

He’d had only fleeting impressions of the run-down ranch in Lightning Flat on his way in. The house, he’d noticed, had needed painting and other repairs badly, although it looked solid and Jack’s mother had kept it scrupulously clean and freshly whitewashed inside. But Jack’s father’s words, though some of them had bled him out inside and forced tears to his eyes – the first he’d shown in front of strangers since childhood – had also made him notice details of the land and the house’s surroundings on the way out: “ _had some half-baked notion the two o’ you was gonna move up here, build a cabin, help run the place_.” He’d looked at the barns, the cattle scattered about, the four mature cherry trees in back, and a flat spot with an ancient grove on a rise above a stream, about 100 feet from the house. He wouldn’t have noticed more than the rutted, pebbly road he was driving on if it hadn’t been for the Old Bastard’s words.

 

__At least once a week, they had dinner with Jack’s mother and the Old Bastard, come what may. Her cooking, Jack was quick to admit, was light-years better than his and the Old Bastard had even become marginally more friendly since the efforts of two younger men working on the rundown ranch were starting to bear fruit. But Ennis was amazed at how skillfully Jack turned these prosaic occasions into opportunities to tease him. Even the shirt he usually wore to dinner in The House, as both of them referred to it._ _

_Ennis had made a trip to Riverton a few months ago to see Jenny in her senior high school play, in which an actor had appeared wearing a ripped-up shirt damaged in an offstage brawl. He’d asked Jenny afterward if the costume people had made a different shirt for every performance, and she’d hooted. “Daddy, you must be the last person in the world to hear about Velcro!”_

_And he’d had to mention that to Jack. On his next trip to Gillette for supplies, Jack had taken a sky-blue cotton shirt with him and had the buttonholes replaced with Velcro, leaving the buttons for public view to hide how easy it was to rip the shirt off. He’d taken to wearing it to The House on these dinner occasions and would smile at Ennis innocently across the narrow table, fingers artlessly brushing the plackets and cuffs in between bites of Dorothy Twist’s macaroni and beef casserole. . Once Ennis tried kicking him under the table but the only result was “ouch! Watch it, Ennis”, after which Jack’s foot had stealthily crept forward to wedge against his own. Finally, to avoid looking at Jack, Ennis had complimented Mrs. Twist on the casserole – ‘ma’am’, he still called her, unable to say ‘Mother’ as yet – relieved that the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans wasn’t anything visible under the carefully patched tablecloth she brought out for these weekly dinners._

_Another thunderstorm was moving slowly in as they walked back to the cabin later, the lightning that was as much a fixture here as wind throwing the clouds into sharp relief. But the walk was a short one, Jack purposely not hurrying, The door had hardly closed behind them before Ennis had pulled Jack to him, one hand on the back of Jack’s head as he kissed him and the other hand struggling with the snaps on his jeans; wondering why Jack didn’t have Velcro put on them as well. Then he yanked Jack’s modified shirt open, still turned on by the ripping sound it made; and pulling it off his shoulders fast enough that Jack had to pull apart the cuffs to keep them from ripping in earnest: “think you’re somethin’ doncha, Jack Twist?” “I’d say you think so,” Jack answered as he down at the edge of their bed, pulling off his boots and jeans and still looking at Ennis with that exaggerated innocence._

_Ennis sat down behind him, running his hands up Jack’s sides, deliberately bypassing the nipples he knew were so sensitive. Instead, both his hands traveled down Jack’s unresisting arms, pulled them out slightly, moved back up the tender skin underneath from the wrist up to the elbow and then back down. As they did, Jack crossed his arms just under his shoulders as if hugging himself, which laid Ennis’ hands over his nipples. Ennis fingered them lightly with his left hand but only briefly, just long enough to feel Jack’s muscles tense. He was going to pay him back for that teasing at dinner. They had world enough now, and time._

_His right hand moved down to Jack’s knee and languidly up the inside of the thigh, right hand cupping his balls and right thumb caressing them lightly and then moving forward a bit to trace up and down the now-throbbing vein in his cock. Jack was gasping now, head arched back and to one side, giving Ennis plenty of room for leisurely nibbles down the side of his neck before sinking his teeth lightly into Jack’s shoulder and sucking hard for a moment._

_Jack’s body jerked forward as if Ennis’ mouth had been a hot piece of charcoal but Ennis had anticipated that and held his prey in place. “Tease me willya, Rodeo?” he whispered, but his own breath was getting ragged and the pressure on his own jeans more insistent. He released Jack and started to unzip his own Wranglers but Jack, less intent on teasing him now, turned around and speeded up the process by several seconds._

_Afterward, the storm moved in closer and the lightning, which Ennis was accustomed to by now, illuminated the room in momentary sheets of light. The window with its protective awning outside was open and he watched the night breeze riffle Jack’s dark hair for a few minutes before he too dozed off._

 

But oddly, he was beginning to find these invented erotic memories no more compelling than the minutiae of their imagined daily life; which he reviewed, fine-tuned and added to in his mind over and over again. In his imagination, he and Jack built their three-room cabin, pitching a tent in the windbreak of the half-empty barn while they were working on it; and rode or walked over every inch of the ranch’s acreage, deciding what to work on first. His new epic fantasies about Jack were beginning to focus as much on these details as on the passion that would no longer be bottled and sealed up within a few weeks a year.

During Curt’s absences, Alma Jr. was using her time alone painting and decorating their tiny apartment, and Ennis drove with her to Casper on his next day off. He watched as she went through stack after stack of paint color samples on tiny cards, surprised that there could be so many shades and tints of white alone, let alone every other color; and thinking of what a long arduous job it would have been repainting the old Twist house in addition to the cabin.

“I guess I’ll get used to it,” Junior said later, when they stopped for lunch. “But when Curt’s home, I feel like we have to make the most of it, be together all the time, and then when he’s gone back to work it’s just me in the house and I’ve got so much time to fill. It isn’t ever just, I don’t know, _ordinary_. A regular married life, you know?”

“Yes,” Ennis answered, “I do.”

She dozed off in the truck on the way home and his eyes watched the road, but his mind was back in Lightning Flat, carefully scraping the peeling paint off the house and wondering if Mrs. Twist would like the dark green paint he’d bought in Gillette to use as trim and break up the expanse of white – or rather “eggshell”, as the label on the white paint he’d bought indicated.

Where for years he hadn’t even allowed himself to think of living with Jack, now he went through detail after detail. As the daydreams became more frequent, and started to invade his dreams at night, they became just as painful as they were compelling. He never would have thought that imagining activities like repairing fences, moving stock or expeditions to hardware and grocery stores could cause such longing and regret; and he understood now that this was what Jack had so desired, without which their stolen times together had soured; this mundane holiness. He felt like a starving man marooned in a rocky wasteland where nothing edible would grow, recalling a luscious feast he’d declined even to taste over and over again.

 

_They’d bought two young North Star cherry trees in big pots and planted them near the three mature ones. The trees in the tiny orchard looked fragile, with substantial enough trunks but tapering branches becoming almost twig-like where the bunches of cherries ripened. But they were among the toughest and most self-sufficient of any fruit tree; more than a match for winter ice, summer heat, droughts, windstorms and weeds._

_Ennis was balancing on a rickety ladder, the handle of a plastic gallon ice cream carton dangling from one wrist while he reached with the other for the handfuls of ripe cherries that grew in bunches like grapes. “Ya missed a good bunch o’ ripe ones!” Jack called from the ground where he was picking the fruit lower down. “They look ripe from where you are,” Ennis answered, “still orange from up here.” Later, they would sit with Mrs. Twist on the stoop of the freshly-painted house, pitting the cherries with ‘poor man’s cherry pitters’: old plastic drinking straws thriftily cut in half that could poke out the cyanide-bearing pit and leave the fruit whole and round. The kitchen had grown sultry and humid with the steam from the canning pot that had been boiling over an hour. “You’re eatin’ as many as you’re pittin’ “, he said to Jack, but he was snacking on them too: they were often called “sour” pie cherries but when fully ripe had a refreshing tartness that undercut the sugar in them and kept it from being cloying. The cherry juice, drying on their skin, had stained their hands black._

The daydream assailed him one day at work, riding in the passenger seat of the truck while Javier, one of the seasonal ranch hands, drove. In his imagination the orchard and house, humble as they were, were so vivid and so tantalizingly out of reach that he felt suddenly gut-punched and doubled over slightly. “You all right?” he was brought back to the present by the alarm in Javier’s voice and muttered something about breakfast not setting well with him. But he resolved to get these fantasies under control. For the next week, he watched inwardly for them to start taking form as he would watch for ruts in a gravel road, forcing other thoughts into his head to crowd them out and finding things to do that would demand his full attention. The strain and his troubled sleep showed in his face, and he grew even thinner than he normally was; and his attempt at control was suddenly derailed one night while he was sleeping and Jack finally managed to speak to him directly for the first time.

It was a very brief encounter but he knew immediately on waking that this had not been one of his occasional dreams about Jack. It lacked both that flat, cartoonish look of dreams as well as a dream’s matter-of-fact surrealism; where the dreamer can absent-mindedly leave the house stark naked and notice it only too late; or dinner plates can sprout merrily in flower garden borders. The light was dim and bluish and he could see Jack’s features clearly. Not like he’d seen him in life; but rather like seeing someone’s reflection in a window with a night sky behind it; visible but with no physical substance and a certain lack of detail.

“Don’t be doin’ that, bud,” Jack said, his voice sounding like he was speaking from the other side of a door but his words clear enough. “You’re changin’ horses, don’t fall off now.” Ennis had asked what he meant and Jack had just smiled knowingly. But his parting words, as Ennis recalled them the next morning, left no doubt as to what he was referring to: “nice idea about the Velcro.”

Curt had managed to make it home last week and Junior had left her painting project half-done for the time being, the living room cluttered with drop cloths and smelling of latex paint. But she’d finally finished it, she told him on the phone and asked him to dinner. “I’m kinda worried about you, Daddy, you don’t look like you’re eatin’ more than every other day.”

The living room looked brighter; still smelled of paint but the better aroma in the kitchen where Junior was putting out plates and silverware for two on the kitchen table. “Taste the stew and see if there’s anything you wanta add to it, Daddy,” she urged. He lifted the lid, dipped a spoon into the thick beef stew and reached for the salt shaker. “Wha’s that?” She was spooning something that looked to him like lavender pudding into glass dishes. “Blueberry yogurt, Daddy, try it just once. I eat it for lunch a lot, it’s cheap and convenient, no cooking.”

He added a few pinches of salt to the stew and then opened the oven to make sure the brown-and-serve rolls weren’t getting too brown. But he was already imagining a late winter morning in Lightning Flat, Jack out in the barn and Ennis starting a bacon and egg breakfast. He was checking the toast browning under the broiler, and savoring the aroma of the bacon as it cooked.

(end of Part 1)


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 2: Wedding Night**

David had taken to calling Ennis every few weeks. As with most of Ennis’ rare telephone conversations, they were somewhat one-sided but he had gone from tolerating the calls to looking forward to them, another slight shift on the borders of his enclosed world. 

In early September, he listened to the now-familiar voice telling about his first visit back to Georgia since moving to Duluth. Gramma Alex had died unexpectedly. “The way she’d have wanted it,” David said, his voice sounding fatigued. “She had a stroke, lingered in the hospital for a few days. I thanked Aunt Carol for bringing her to the wedding, that was the last time I saw her. Saw a lot of her when I was growing up, and I’d missed her since I moved North.”

“I’m sorry to hear ‘bout that,” Ennis answered. “I just met her at the wedding but she was a nice lady.”

“Yeah, she was my favorite relative, I wish I could’ve got there in time to say goodbye. But it might not’ve made any difference. The last day, they thought she was conscious but she just kept talking to herself, thought her son Kevin was there. I never met him, he died a long time ago.”

Ennis recalled the sweet, artless voice, telling him about her family. “She mentioned him when we were talkin’ at the wedding,” he ventured. “He was killed in Korea. She said she still thought of him as a young man.” 

“That so?” David was silent a few moments. “You think maybe she was talkin’ to him? Lotta my relatives at the funeral, they thought she just wasn’t in her right mind but I’d like to think she was. You believe in somethin’ more after you die?”

Ennis thought of Jack’s hand in his at the wedding. “Yeah I do, but who knows how it works. Not much way for us ta tell. Huh?” 

“I was raised Presbyterian,” David said, “they were all about Heaven ‘n Hell and who was going there and who wasn’t.”

“Yeah I was taught that too.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense. You could be the most mean, evil bastard in the world and you win the big prize after you go ‘cause you believed the right stuff about somethin’ that happened back in the Roman Empire? And what would you do in Heaven all day anyway?”

Ennis tried to recall his unmemorable Sunday School mornings. “Well, yer supposed ta be spendin’ all your time praisin’ God. That’s what they said anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s what they taught us, too. But what sorta afterlife is that? Sounds to me like spendin’ eternity going to church. Would ya really want to spend eternity going to church?”

“Don’t sound like much ta look forward to.”

“I have an old school friend, Maggie – she believes in reincarnation,” David ventured. “Pretty convinced of it. Never have figured out if I believe that or not, but I gotta say it makes more sense than what we were taught.”

“Isn’t that where you come back as a bird, or a cow or somethin’?”

“No, that’s somethin’ else. It’s when you keep gettin’ reborn in another body. People talk about coming back as other people, having a bunch of different lives, but Maggie says it’s all one life, just different times ‘n’ places. I never have decided whether she’s right, but I’d sure rather think of meetin’ Gramma Alex again lookin’ like somebody else than her spending eternity sittin’ around kissin’ some god’s butt and listening to harp music. She’d hate that.”

It had been awhile since Ennis had been curious about anyone else’s life. He wondered about the woman David had just mentioned, if David liked both women and men but instead he just asked, “David, uh, how’d ya move to Minnesota? Didn’t like Georgia any more?”

David’s voice suddenly sounded cautious and strained. “Well, I went through a bad time, someone died… Maggie came down to visit me in Atlanta during that time, she lived there a few years but then moved back to Minnesota. Not her hometown though, she’s from a little place in the farm country, Madelia. I told her I was thinking of moving but hadn’t made any decision yet. And she offered me a place to stay in Duluth while I looked around, decided what I wanted to do. I slept on her couch for a month or so, finally wound up buying a share of a house she found that had got turned into two apartments. So she’s still a close neighbor.”

_Nathan died_ , but without trying to understand it, Ennis knew not to ask about that at the moment. Even just listening to a voice over the phone he could feel a kinship with what he heard in David’s voice, something like a partially-healed wound just liberated from bandages. 

 

“Curt’s home for the week,” Junior had told him earlier that day. “He threw his left arm out of joint, can’t hardly move it. Are you comin’ to dinner tonight? Jenny’ll be there.” But when he pulled up at the curb, Ennis was surprised to see that Alma was there as well. The table in the undersized dining area was already set and the house fragrant with the aromas of roast chicken and chocolate brownies, and he could hear Alma’s voice in the kitchen.

“Monroe’s working late tonight and Aunt Sue said she’d stay with the kids. I told her she might as well eat with us, it can be a family dinner.” There was something anxious and slightly pleading in Junior’s voice. “That’s fine, darlin’,” he answered quickly, knowing she was remembering the aftermath of that Thanksgiving dinner, seven years back now but that holiday would never be a good memory. In a way, Alma Junior and Jenny had not grown up with a real family in the way they deserved to, however clear it might be that both their parents loved them. Junior smiled with obvious relief, as Jenny came out of the kitchen with a serving bowl in one hand and a pitcher of tea in the other. “We’re almost ready, Daddy,” she said, “don’t you or Curt wander off anywhere.”

Curt was already sitting at the head of the table and Ennis took a seat one chair down. “How’s it goin’, Curt? Heard ya hurt your arm.”

“Yeah, hard ta move it.” Curt looked tired and slightly tense, but as always there was an earnest, stolid quality about him that reminded Ennis of K.E. “Say, I wanna ask ya about something, Mr. del –“

“Ennis.”

“Ennis, okay. Junior and me have been havin’ it out about my bein’ away so much. It ain’t any different from before we got married, that didn’t seem ta bother her, but it does now. And I’m gettin’ tired of all this driving, think we oughta make some kinda change? Her mama’s startin’ ta ask me a lot about gettin’ another job.”

Ennis felt like he was handling a pot of boiling water about to spill on him at any minute. “Well, I’m not gonna tell you where ta work,” he answered cautiously. “But yeah, it’s different now you and Alma Junior are married. She’s tryin’ to make a home for ya, and I guess kids sooner or later. That ain’t somethin’ you can do part time.” Curt might not get the irony, he thought wryly, but he might hear from Junior directly how much his father-in-law knew about that.

Jenny was pouring ice tea into glasses while Alma and Junior brought out the rest of the food. “The place looks so nice, Daddy,” she said, “Junior says you helped her with painting it.” “Not much,” Ennis answered. “Just keep her company when she goes shoppin’ in Casper.”

Talk flew around the table about Curt’s visit to the doctor, Alma’s new substitute-teaching job and how well it was working out with Todd, the youngest, just starting school; the details of Junior’s decorating project. “Hey Curt,” Jenny said with what sounded like rehearsed casualness, “I talked to Luanne on the phone yesterday.”

“Yeah?” How’s she doin’?” 

“One a her roommate’s movin’ out, late October,” Jenny began, and Alma finished for her: “and she told Jenny she was lookin’ for a new roommate. Now Jenny wants to move to _Denver_.” Her tone almost, though not quite, suggested that she was speaking of an imminent disaster.

“Oh _Mama_. I wanted to be the one ta tell everybody!”

“That so, Jenny? You’re movin’ down to Denver?” Junior’s face lit up. “Hey, that sounds exciting! We’ll have to help you move--”

“Don’t encourage her,” Alma snapped. “Casper, or Cheyenne, I wouldn’t mind, but Denver? It’s a big city! And you know how things are nowadays, all those nuts runnin’ around -- Jenny’s just a young girl.”

“I’m not a young girl anymore, Mama.” Jenny’s mouth was clenched stubbornly, and Ennis suddenly saw a resemblance to his sister that he hadn’t seen before. “I’m 18 now. Daddy, what do you think? I’m tired of Riverton, and I’d already have a place to stay, and with family too.”

Ennis knew that everyone was looking at him, waiting for his fatherly verdict but he kept his eyes on Jenny; not wanting to disappoint her but not wanting to cross Alma either. “Luanne, she don’t need ya to move in right away?” 

“No, Daddy. Carolyn’s got another month there and she put up a deposit, that Luanne and the other girl are keepin’, they’ll put it toward the rent.”

“Well – why not take that time to decide, huh? Go down there for a weekend or two, sleep on their sofa or somethin’, see how you like it.”

Jenny beamed at him, and he caught Alma’s exasperated look. When he left a few hours later, he wasn’t surprised at her following him out to the truck. “Why couldn’t you take my side, Ennis? You like the idea of her goin’ to live in a city that size, and she’s never lived anyplace outside Riverton?”

“Hell no, Alma. But this way maybe she’ll change her mind, and we can check out the place. An’ since she’s 18, we can’t stop her. I still think of her as my little girl, you do too, but she ain’t never gonna think of herself that way again.” 

“I don’t know how _you_ got so smart,” was Alma’s only response. But to his surprise she smiled at him slightly and he knew that somehow a truce had been struck between them.

 

Just as Ennis reached the door of his trailer, he heard the door of another trailer nearby slam. “Ennis!” he looked up to see Tanya, a young woman who had moved here a few months ago with her two young children after she and her husband had divorced. He had generally avoided her as she seemed a little too friendly, often showing up to borrow a few scoops of coffee or ask for a ride into town. He didn’t object to helping out a neighbor, but he had no interest in repeating the pointless and sad experience with Cassie. Tonight, however, Tanya had something of interest. “This came for you yesterday,” she said, holding out a small envelope. “That mailman, he keeps getting number 12 and number 17 mixed up.”

Ennis didn’t need to look at the return address. He recognized the careful, slightly blocky handwriting from the Christmas and Easter cards he’d received. But this one, he noticed as he took the envelope from Tanya’s hand, was too pliable to be another card. After locking the door of his tiny refuge behind him, he fetched a beer out of the refrigerator before opening the letter.

_Dear Ennis,_

_I hope everything is all right with you, and that you and all your family are well. I have thought of you so many times since you came up to Lightning Flat last year to see us. It was such a comfort to have someone visit us who loved my son Jack as much as I know you did._

_I had recognized your name when you wrote to us, because Jack mentioned you so often. When I sent you up to his room, I hoped you would come downstairs with those two shirts I’d seen hanging in back of his closet for so many years. I’d always known that one of them belonged to the one he loved best of everyone in the world, and your visit was an answer to a prayer that this man would come for them._

_I now have a favor to ask you. My Husband passed away last month, and as I do not want to live here alone, I will be moving to Oregon shortly to live near my sister. You had said that you would be willing to carry out Jack’s wishes and scatter his ashes on Brokeback Mountain like he had wanted. It would be such a comfort to me to know that his last resting place is that special one that meant so much to him and to you as well._

_Please know that you are and will be in my prayers every day. I do hope to see you soon._

_\-- Helen Twist_


	8. Chapter 8

Ennis took extra care driving, as always when he had the horse trailer behind him. He’d made equally careful preparations in the last few weeks, first getting time off from the foreman who didn’t take it well but grudgingly accepted his story about doing a favor for a friend; and then borrowing a tent and other camping equipment from Vickie. He possessed none; hadn’t needed to, as the arrangement had always been that he brought the horses and Jack brought the camping paraphernalia. “Sure, no problem,” Vickie had said. “We hadn’t used that tent in a couple of years, better spread it out on the ground and make sure it don’t smell musty. Takin’ up fishing again?” Like many people who saw Ennis regularly, she’d long been curious about both his regular absences over the years and their abrupt cessation after spring a year ago. “No,” he’d replied, “just this one time.”

As always, driving through mountainous areas while dragging a trailer was rather slow going but he hardly noticed, remembering his return from Lightning Flat a year ago, bringing back the two shirts in their brown paper bag. He recalled almost nothing of the drive back, but the two days after that were the occasion of Alma Jr. and Jenny insisting on his getting a telephone.

_He’d locked the door behind him and slowly opened the paper bag, pulled Jack’s blue denim shirt with his own brown-patterned one inside it through his hands, looked at the worn cuffs and old bloodstains._

_There had been tears in the truck on the way home, but none now. He gathered the nested shirts in his arms, hands crossed just above his waist, and sank into the worn upholstered armchair. Slowly, then reaching a solemn rhythm, he began rocking back and forth in the ancient instinctive movement of deepest grief. His mouth half-opened a few times, and in some other times and cultures a keening or chant for the dead would have come out but here there was no sound; he just lifted the blue denim to touch his lips briefly._

_Eventually the rocking subsided, to return at intervals, but he did not move from the chair that night, nor the following day, nor the night following it. He would have been physically able to move but the thought and intention that normally precede movement would not come. He felt no cold nor heat nor hunger nor thirst. What he did feel, over that day and two nights, was as if he were being stripped down to the bare bones, layer by paper-thin layer, skin and blood and muscle. On the second morning, when he was finally able to stand and drape the shirts over the back of the chair, he had moved slowly and stiffly to the bathroom to piss and was half surprised to see his own face in the small medicine cabinet mirror. On some level, he had expected to see a skull with hollow eye sockets looking blindly back at him._

_When he at last opened the door and stepped out of the trailer, his eyes registered the familiar dusty ground, scraggly weeds and patches of grass and a few fugitive wildflowers here and there with the same surprise. He had visualized stepping out onto bedrock at the bottom of a blasted-out crater._

_The trailer had always been sparely furnished, but now it seemed unbearably cluttered, the closeness of previously unnoticed objects like sandpaper on an open wound. Over the next few days he’d loaded up the bed of the truck for a trip to the landfill, leaving only what he needed to eat, wash and sleep plus the television that was handy to have something to focus his eyes on when he needed that. He would have discarded the bed and slept on the bare floor if he could have explained it to his daughters, who were alarmed enough later that day when they saw his haggard appearance. A bout with the flu, just getting over it, nothing to be concerned about he’d told them but had given in to their demands that he get a telephone where they could reach him, or he them, “just in case.”_

_He’d pulled the sleeves of his shirt out of Jack’s, then laid his shirt on the bed and pulled the sleeves of Jack’s shirt through the sleeves of his. He hadn’t wanted to hang them on the wall where they would be exposed to dust and drafts, nor in the closet where he could not see them but rather had driven a small nail into the inside of the closet door. A few days after that, he had ordered a postcard of Brokeback Mountain at Higgins’ gift shop, and tacked it to the door above the shirts’ left shoulders._

As Ennis drove north and east and up Highway 16 from Gillette, the mountains gave way again to prairie, much flatter this far north but rolling just a little here and there. It was also almost treeless, though after turning off onto a long stretch of gravel road, he saw small stands here and there. Some of them surrounded the ranch houses that were spaced further and further apart as he got closer to the Montana border; and Ennis was able to spot some groupings marking sites of now-vanished houses. The grass would have been tall and exuberantly green a month or so earlier but now the fields were marked with the inevitable round haybales looking like rough-textured carpets rolled up.

The Twist ranch hadn’t changed since last year; but driving toward the house he could now see the images underneath that he had created this summer. The leafy spurge was as much in evidence as ever: if the late John Twist Sr. had been a stud duck, he’d been a stud duck in a very small pond choked with cattails. The space under the copse of trees, occupied by the cabin he and Jack had built in his mind was as empty as the last time, and he glanced at it quickly only once. As before, the paint on the house’s weathered planks was peeling, but he would have visualized it freshly painted white and dark green if his eyes weren’t fixed on Mrs. Twist, standing just outside the door as she had the last time. She stood straight but not stiffly, as if she were facing a moderate wind, arms hanging straight at her sides, evidently having watched and listened for his truck coming up the bumpy road.

Once again, with the inevitable cup of coffee in front of him, he was sitting at the table in the small, immaculate kitchen, the walls inside the house not peeling but painted entirely white. And as before, it was a sunny day and the white stillness created by the sun peering through the thin white curtains made him feel as if he were sitting in the middle of a very quiet cloud. He did not look toward the plain metal can, bits of soil still stuck to it here and there, that sat on the far corner of a kitchen shelf.

She sat down and looked at him closely. Her reddish hair drew back from her face in slightly curling wisps, the blue eyes the only resemblance he could see to Jack. “You’re thinner,” she said gently. “This last year has been very hard for you, I think.” He nodded. “I’m sorry about your loss, ma’am. Good thing, you’re not gonna be stayin’ here alone.” As always he felt awkward, wondering how other people always seemed to be able to think of something to say.

He saw a few cardboard boxes in the room; not many, but there hadn’t been much in this house to begin with. She reached down to an unsealed box next to the table, pulled out a cheap photo album and handed him a clear plastic pocket that had been cut out of it. “I thought you might like to have this.” It was an old Polaroid photograph, the colors somewhat diluted by time: Jack, about the same age he’d been that summer on Brokeback give a year or two; that familiar cocky smile spread across his face and a little beyond. He had never seen a photograph of Jack before, and seeing Jack looking out at him stopped his breath for a moment or two. 

“I don’t wanna keep the only one you have,” he said, unaware that he’d pressed the plastic sleeve between his hands as if he were trying to stamp the image onto his palms. “I have a few others,” she assured him. “They were all taken when Jack was in rodeo. When he had a good ride he’d often look for somebody who had a Polaroid. Not many of those back then, but he did manage to send us a photo or two every year. And my brother-in-law Harold visited a few times and took some pictures. You’re welcome to keep that.”

“Jack’s uncle Harold? I remember hearing about him that summer on Brokeback. He got sick, or somethin’?”

“Yes, he died a few years after that,” she answered. “She lives in Eugene, near my niece. Sent me money for a plane ticket, I’ll be leaving in three weeks.” She looked around the room. “I’m leaving a lot of memories – some are good ones. Not enough to stay alone here.”

Ennis took a few sips of the hot, strong coffee she’d put before him. “What was Jack like when he was a kid? We was both 19 when we met.”

“Oh, he was so bright and curious, always bringin’ home some funny-colored rock, piece of wood, once in awhile some animal skull, feathers. Seemed like he could see things in ‘em, you know, like when you stare up at clouds and see shapes they look like. Once of a late afternoon, he was out west of the house, near those cherry trees, and then come runnin’ in – said the windows looked like there was a fire in here. ‘Mama, come look’ he said, so I walked out with him and sure enough. Sometimes when the sun got low that’s just how they did look.”

She was sitting a little straighter, the tired-looking pale blue eyes open a little wider and the cadence of her voice had quickened slightly. Having spent so much of his life in places where people were spaced widely, Ennis knew that until she’d seen his truck coming up the road, the nearest opportunity for her to speak about Jack out loud and not have the sound vanish into the air was a good ten miles away. He was sharply reminded, as he listened, that others besides himself had been deprived of Jack’s love and his presence in the world so brutally.

“Whenever Jack ‘d go out with either of us to get supplies, that wasn’t an everyday thing but the people in stores an’ such got to know him. He never ran outta things to talk about, you know.” For the first time in either of their two meetings, she saw a very faint smile appear on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he answered. “That was one o’ the first things I noticed about him. Kinda couldn’t not notice.”

Since his last visit to Lightning Flat this was the first time he’d mentioned Jack out loud to anyone, by name or not. He looked away from her, down at the photograph on the table. “He don’t look quite like either of you much.”

“No, he looks like John’s father. By the time we started keeping company, we were 18, 19, John hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. Didn’t always see him regular before that, this was his uncle’s ranch then and his dad had a business down in Gillette. I never did meet him, but John wasn’t happy at all at Jack lookin’ like him. He never did talk about his father much but ‘too slick for his own good’ was somethin’ he said more ‘n a few times. 

“But Jack wanted to be just like his dad, even took up rodeo ‘cause he thought his dad was this great bull rider. Oh, I know what Jack must have told you,” she responded to the surprised look Ennis gave her, “and John didn’t at all mind him growin’ up thinkin’ that. God knows he tried, kept at it. Him and Jack both, once they got to wantin’ something -- they didn’t let go easy. But he just got too busted up to go on with it so we moved back here. And I guess he coulda liked ranchin’ too but we never did get enough to do more ‘n pay the mortgage and bills every month. Some o’ those ranches you passed comin’ up here, they got equipment we couldn’t o’ made the down payment on.”

She paused, and looked into Ennis’ face for a moment. “When Jack married into money, I know John had hoped that’d make a difference. And he did send enough to keep the house in repair, didn’t get to the paintin’ he was gonna do this year. And he’d come up here too, I’m sure you knew that, take a list John made and do a lot of work around the place. But it woulda taken more money, extra hands livin’ here, to make a difference. John thought Jack got to thinkin’ he was too good for this place, always drivin’ a new truck and all. But when he said he’d gotten married down in Texas, I was afraid for him.”

“Jack… he wanted us to – live together somewhere.” He could feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders start to tense. “Brought it up a lot for awhile. He never did mention what his dad said, our comin’ up here. Guess by the time he started thinkin’ about that was when I’d said no too many times, he stopped talkin’ about it. But I’ve – thought about it – thought about it a lot since.”

“You didn’t think about it then?”

“Didn’t let myself, I guess, or maybe all I could think of was how dangerous it was. So we just met for those camping trips. Where it was just me and Jack, nobody else around ta think anything one way or other, didn’t feel like –“ he paused and took another shallow breath, the tensed muscles giving way to a familiar sourness in his mouth. “Like I was queer.”

Only the recollection of how she’d looked at him on his last visit, and the absence of the Old Bastard to even register the word, could have dragged that out of him. _She knows already, no undoin' it_ , a feeling vaguely familiar from occasional moments during his phone calls from David. He could never recall how he’d expected her to respond but she only asked, “are you?”

A few moments of silence passed that seemed endless, before he pulled up the sound and heard his own voice saying, “yeah.” She heard him but it was close enough to a whisper that the sound probably did not travel much further.

The nausea hit him so quickly it was as if it had been waiting, a tire iron of its own in hand. He barely got outside and knelt at the end of the woodpile by the door, hand out on one of the silvery boards of the house while he heaved and retched uncontrollably. He’d eaten very little since the day before and what came out was mostly saliva and bile so there was no physical relief but just a few punctuated shudders of misery. By the time he’d lifted his head, taking control of his body again, she was kneeling beside him with a wet cloth. She wiped the sweat and detritus off his face, and then his hands. “Over here,” and she led him to the narrow bench on the other side of the door. Disappearing into the kitchen for a few moments, she returned with a Mason jar glass of store-brand cola drink in hand.

“This will settle your stomach,” she pressed it into her hand and her voice was not cajoling. It was giving a mother’s directive, not quite at the level of using all three of a child’s names but one not to be disputed nevertheless. The jar of soda was familiar from his occasional childhood bouts with the flu and as he expected, it did make his empty stomach stop churning. His heart was still beating fast enough for him to feel it near the top of his head, but that too was returning to regular duty.

“There was two ranchers livin’ together when I was a kid. One of ‘em got killed – it was, pretty bad. I just kept picturin’ that happenin’ to us, thought being out in the middle o’ nowhere once in awhile, that was the best way. Keep us safe,” he added bitterly.

“Ennis, I’m not a very worldly lady but I know what some o’ the dangers are for men like Jack, men like you. There’s things people say, ways people talk I might not’ve noticed if it didn’t always feel like they were talkin’ about my boy even if they weren’t. And I might not of ever been to any town bigger than Gillette but that doesn’t mean I’ve haven’t wondered if Jack really had an accident or not. But you don’t seem the kind of man to run from danger for years. There was something more, I think.”

“Yeah, that was me. I’m glad you welcomed me up here, ma’am, but I couldn’t o’ blamed you if you didn’t. Jack shoulda been up here with me, he wouldn’t of been takin’ chances but I turned him away so many times – I keep thinkin’ I’m to blame—“

She had suddenly turned and seized him by the shoulders, her face and voice more grim than he would have ever expected to see in her. “Ennis, don’t you do that. Don’t you do it. If Jack didn’t die in an accident then it was evil men who did it. And if anybody else takes the blame they’re takin’ some o’ that away from the ones it belongs to. Tell me,” she leaned back and looked at him a little more calmly. “After those men – did what they did, what do you think they did after that?”

He answered out of his occasional nightmares and what had always troubled him so much the next day. “Went home, I guess. Maybe went to a bar or somethin’ first.”

“Had a drink? Said hello to other men in the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“And then went home and said hello to their families. Kissed their wives, maybe. Turned on some TV show, watched it with their children.” Ennis could not answer. “And the next day went ta work, or maybe went on some errand, went to the hardware store, fooled with somethin’ in the wife’s car that was actin’ up. You think?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

She leaned back against the house for a little. “That doesn’t make you mad? Not at all?”

“Hell yes, ma’am, it does.” His voice sounded low, and hard.

“Good. They didn’t teach us enough about the Devil in church but I did learn about righteous anger. You keep that where it belongs.”

He was suddenly reminded of one of Jack’s first mentions of his mother. “There was somethin’ Jack said one night that first summer – about you believin’ in the Pentecost. But he wasn’t sure of what it was, thought it might be about the end of the world, or hell fire or somethin’.”

She smiled again, even laughed a little. “Oh, I should’ve taken Jack to church regular but 15 miles both there ‘n’ back, I’ve mostly just prayed and read the Bible and some other things right here. Jack probably thought that sometime when he heard me mention the Pentecostal fire. 

“Pentecost was an old wheat harvest celebration around Jesus’ time. The Bible says the Holy Spirit went into them, that it sounded like the wind but looked like little tongues of fire. And they were all changed after that.” He didn’t remember everything he said in every conversation with Jack that summer, but that one he did, _you might be a sinner but I ain’t had the opportunity_ , he’d told Jack, neither of them knowing that their own pentecostal fire was just a few hours away. For good or otherwise, nothing had been the same after that.

 

Ennis took Sincie out of the trailer and put her in the old barn near the house. He then took a tarp out of the truck and spread it out nearby and took the sleeping bag out of his camping gear. Returning to Jack’s room, sleeping there overnight was not something he was sure he could face, and he told Mrs. Twist that he was used to sleeping near his horses on long trips. She hadn’t questioned him about that, but made a simple dinner, bacon and eggs and storebrand-bread toast with cherry jam. Afterward they walked out to the cherry trees to watch the sunset blazing on the windows for a few moments, and Ennis noticed something under her arm. “I’d meant to give this to you tomorrow morning,” she said, “but if you’re sleepin’ in the barn you might want the use of it tonight. I made this when Jack was young, it’s always been on his bed.”

He took it from her and folded some of it, draped over both his arms. It was the quilt he’d seen on Jack’s bed last year, a kind of quilt he remembered sleeping under as a boy: no particular pattern but large squares and rectangles of cloth from the remnants of sturdy clothing stitched together and the layers secured with knots of thick yard. It was mostly brown shades from tan to dark chocolate, with a few dark blue, a few green, a few green and tan striped and some bright orange squares here and there like vivid exclamation points. Like many old quilts its age had given its texture a buttery quality, and as Ennis thought of Jack sleeping under it for so many nights, it felt alive under his hands.

That night he lay in total darkness in the barn, the quilt tucked around him inside the sleeping bag, inhaling the reassuringly familiar horse smells and listening to her breathing and chuffing. It was the same barn, he thought, where he and Jack would have slept while building their cabin, pushing hard on the work to get it at least livable well before winter. As he sank into sleep he had the sensation of Jack’s presence that he’d already learned to recognize, but he heard nothing from him and did not remember his dreams if he had any.

Next morning, after insisting he eat breakfast before starting out, Mrs. Twist gave him the metal can, this time inside a pillowcase to serve as a bag. The pillowcase now sat at the other end of the seat, with the small lidded coffee can he’d brought also inside it. She also gave him a slip of paper with her sister’s address, which he’d slipped into his battered wallet that rarely held much at any one time. “Thank you for doing this, Ennis,” she’d said again, putting one hand up to his cheek. “I didn’t know everything there was to know about my son. But I do know he wouldn’t have loved someone who wasn’t worth loving for 20 years. I’ll pray every day now for you to believe that too.”

As he drove back up to the main road Ennis glanced back frequently, as the dying house and the lone figure standing in front of it grew smaller and smaller. But turning back onto state highway 59, he had ceased to notice the landscape, going through the motions of driving automatically.

After 21 years, a disastrous marriage, two daughters and the great love and great tragedy of his life, he was returning to Brokeback Mountain.


	9. Chapter 9

Ennis had passed the turnoff near Signal many times over the years, and had never failed to slow down a little, glance down the road and remember the summer that was retreating further into the past every year. He and Jack had often camped within sight of Brokeback but by an unspoken agreement had never been back there.

He passed it again this time, heading five miles south to the diner and gas station he knew were there. Mrs. Twist had given him some sandwiches for the trip, but other than that he was traveling light; had taken no food or cooking equipment other than a small saucepan for boiling drinking water. He’d get a meal at the diner instead, and another one on the way home. The thought of food didn’t interest him but he had a long ride ahead and needed to keep his strength up.

 

“Goin’ up to Brokeback?” the waitress said. “I hope you weren’t plannin’ to go too far up. Ranger in here just a few hours ago said there’d been some heavy-duty storms on those upper slopes, enough snow the rangers closed em to visitors.” “I’m just there overnight,” Ennis answered. “Gettin’ in a one-day vacation, prob’ly stop back by here on the way back.” That was a major disappointment: he’d planned on scattering Jack’s ashes at their old campsite, where one night of sharing a tent to keep the mountain cold at bay had changed their lives. He wouldn’t have minded taking the chance for himself but not to his horse when the first campsite, much lower down on the mountain, would do. Hell, when he’d made the trip back to Riverton a year ago Jack’s wishes would never be carried out as far as he knew, he told himself.

He started down a few access roads that led nowhere before finding the trailhead, uneasy at how the intervening two decades had softened the edges of the details he’d assumed he’d never forget. But once he got to the broad grassy field where the trucks had unloaded the sheep, he recognized the view of the peaks in the distance, half wrapped in mist and clouds and seeming to glow slightly, just as they had that first day. Getting Sincie out of the trailer, he took his time saddling up, packing his overnight gear and walking the mare gently to get her accustomed again to solid ground after the vibration and rocking of the horse trailer. This was too important a journey for hurrying.

Ennis gradually began to recall the route up the mountain, riding down a steep wooded hill to cross the first stream; then further up the mountain moving through valleys between progressively steeper slopes. He rode for awhile along a fast-moving small river, not muddy like glacial rivers further north but a light verdant green reflecting the dense trees. He saw immediately where to turn and head uphill again: years of seasonal inundations of rainwater as well as mobs of sheep moving annually to and from the allotments had left rocky swales that weren’t hard to spot. It wasn’t much of an effort for him to imagine the masses of dirty-white wool dots, too many animals to pick out individuals, moving up those slopes with the dogs busily darting here and there. But when he recalled being on another horse and driving them along with Jack, it seemed to be only a few months ago and another lifetime all at once. He’d been 19 then, not much in his life so far other than working on one ranch or another with K.E.; expecting to marry Alma that fall but not really thinking much about it. He’d pretty much let his life just flow along, like rainwater going downhill and giving just as little thought to changing direction. 

As he rode, Ennis saw a number of trails winding up over densely wooded hills, thinking that any of them might have been one of the shortcuts he’d taken on weekly trips down for supplies. But he was no longer certain which of the trails were his shortcuts and which were made by deer and other large animals traveling to and from meadows and water sources. If his memory of the shortcuts wasn’t as good as he thought, meandering too far off the main trail could mean hours, or even the next day, before finding the campsite. But he could still feel the energy that the mountain had seemed to have, emanating from the ground, the trees, the moving water and unseen animals and seemingly from the air itself. He didn’t look around expecting to see Jack on a buckskin mare with a low startle point, but could feel his presence again. Over the past three months it was something he’d come to accept as a mysterious but permanent part of his life.

He was as close to certain as he could be that the campsite in the long valley was the right one. The steep rocky bluffs on the other side, the gray stone half-obscured by adventurous trees and shrubs, looked the same. So did the view of the pasture area where he’d often watched Jack from the campsite, looking like a small dark dot in the midst of a mass of even smaller dirty-white ones. It was a wide, steep unbroken slope, ending abruptly in a sheer lethal drop at the high end. What had looked from the campsite like a skimpy tint of green and a few dark green blurs of trees was, he recalled, a much lusher growth of grass and wooded shade in the low spots when seen up close. 

Ennis set up the tent Vickie had lent him, a much larger one than one person needed, and assembled a fire ring from the remnants of others scattered about, little-enough used that stubby grass had grown up in them. Apparently no one had been here for some time. He removed Sincie’s saddle and bridle, tied her by the loose halter and gave her a quick grooming, taking considerably more time than he needed to. When, finally, he withdrew the metal urn from one of the packs, he suddenly sat down on the log he’d pushed up next to the fire ring, overwhelmed for a moment.

It was one thing to offer to properly scatter the ashes of the person he had most loved; quite another to look at the urn and realize that it contained all that was left – only half of it, he thought – of the body that he had known almost as intimately as his own. He had been spared seeing Jack’s lifeless body; but now he would see ashes that had once been flesh and bone, eyes and genitals and hands, blown in every direction by the wind. After several long moments, he reached into the pack again and withdrew a second can, smaller and considerably more colorful.

It was an old coffee can, covered in deep red contact paper with gold braid glued around the base and the rim and sealed with a much more recent plastic top. Jenny had decorated and given it to him for Christmas when she was eight years old, the last Christmas she’d seen her parents celebrate together. It was the sort of homemade child’s gift that parents keep for decades, cherishing its innocent gaudiness. Unknowingly holding his breath, Ennis peeled off the top, unscrewed the urn and shook a few handfuls of ashes into the can before sealing it again. It was a recognizable, never-to-be-parted with object: no danger that he would accidentally throw it away over the following years.

Returning the coffee can to his daypack, he waded across the shallow stream and headed up a rocky path that led up the side of the bluff. From here, he recalled, there was a good view of not only the pasture area but of the unassailable peak itself. It would be a cold night, he thought; the wind from the temporarily snowed-in upper slopes was bracing and it was late enough in the year that the sun was already low in the sky. Although the mountain peaks obscured it, the transformed light gave the snow in the distance slightly gilded edges. 

This was what he had wanted to get done for the last year, had felt he was letting Jack down by not getting done, and now that it was here it seemed too solemn a moment to get through quickly with just a few words. He spoke slowly, stopping for long intervals to let his stumbling speech catch up with his thoughts. “Jack,” he began haltingly, “I hate it that this, and those shirts at home and what your Ma give me, are all I have of you.”

A crow landed at the edge of the bluff, not far from him, and cocked its head in a listening pose. 

“You were right about wantin’ that sweet life together – I shouldn’t a settled for nothing less. But doin’ what you said you wanted done, up here on Brokeback, that’s all I can do for ya now. When the time comes, someone will bring me up here too; I’ll see ta that.”

The light wasn’t diminishing yet, but the shadows had grown deeper, and longer. The crow twisted its head and spread its wings as if stretching stiff muscles, but its sharp eyes continued to watch him.

“I love ya, Jack,” he said finally. “I’d a told you years ago, but I didn’t even want ta know it myself.” 

He stood for a long time, watching the conflagration in the west dim to pale yellow, then twisted off the top of the urn and suddenly flung its contents into the wind. Some of the ashes blew around behind him, disappearing into a clump of shrubs and sapling trees nearby but a wind current caught some of them and bore them up toward the mountain’s summit, out of his sight. A few tiny bone fragments landed in various places in the grass, and he knew that in following winters the snow would cover them, and in the springs the dead grass and evergreen needles would decompose into new soil. Eventually the earth would compassionately cover the bones, long before his own were brought up here. Jack had become part of the mountain in a way, and one day he would too.

He stood there for a long time, listening to the wind and the rushing water, with the crow as silent company. Finally the bracing wind grew chilly as the conflagration in the west dimmed, and the crow took flight into a tree near the campsite as he started back down.

After building a fire, he boiled water for drinking and later ate the two sandwiches Mrs. Twist had given him, washing them down with the cooled water. Afterward he sat for what seemed like several hours, glancing toward the dome-shaped tent that was so different from the canvas steeple-shaped one that he and Jack had shared. It had grown dark and he could no longer see the bluff nor the pasture area but was still thinking of the snowbound upper slopes that he could not now reach. The morning after what neither of them had known was their last night together, he’d woke up to a short-lived snowfall. On his return he’d found Jack taking down the tent, another and more persistent storm on its way, Aguirre was having them bring the sheep down early.

He’d recalled everything about the evening before. Their last lovemaking on the mountain had been that afternoon and they’d sat for some time after finishing dinner, sipping whiskey as usual. Jack had picked up a few cones that the recent hailstorm had knocked off the lodgepole pines and had tossed them into the comfortably blazing campfire where they’d crackled, popped, sent little eruptions of sparks shooting up along with a Christmas-tree smell. “Set fire to the trees if you ain’t careful,” Ennis had warned. “A ranger come up here last year told me these cones got seeds that need fire to open up and sprout,” Jack answered with a laugh. “I’m just plantin’ trees here.” Later, while Ennis had rinsed the plates and skillet in the stream and saddled his horse for the trip up to the pasture, Jack had fallen asleep standing up before the fire, like an old horse. Ennis had slipped up silently behind him, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders from behind and resting his chin on Jack’s left shoulder. “Gotta go, see ya tomorrow,” he’d murmured after humming a bar or two of his mother’s old lullaby that he barely remembered, and had left Jack looking after him as he mounted the horse and rode off to the sheep. 

As the fire began to die down and the chill moved closer, Ennis finally retreated to the tent, wrapping Jack’s quilt around him like the night before and drawing up the two blankets he’d brought. He listened to the pack of coyotes that had begun singing somewhere on the other side of the stream, recalling how the sound had once meant extra vigilance with the 30-30. Now, with no sheep to protect but only himself and his horse, he listened to them with idle, drowsy interest. He could now pick out individual voices from what had been just a cacophony of high-pitched yipping before: here was an urgent voice looking for another pack member, there was a young voice, insistently hungry, and a few that seemed to be calling each other just for the joy of it. The chorus was still going on as he drifted off to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Ennis never knew how much time had passed before he half-awoke, but thought afterward that it must not have been long. It seemed to be first light, the territory between dark and dawn when the sky and landscape are still a pale blue-gray and shadows nonexistent but shapes and differences of light and dark colors are clear. He could not hear the coyotes singing now nor, he realized with a start, could he hear the sound of the wind or the stream at the edge of the campsite. There seemed to be no sound in the world at all at the moment but Ennis was briefly aware of a plait of scents: sweat, leather, scents of pine and wild sage and wood smoke.

He didn’t hear the familiar voice until the instant before he came fully awake and saw Jack kneeling beside him.

“Wake up, cowboy. Time’s wastin’.”

Jack was all that he saw that seemed to have three dimensions. The interior of the tent, and what could be seen outside, had a flat, painted-on look and ended abruptly just at the end of his range of vision, with a whitish-blue glow escaping from the edges. _Another dream_ , he thought, but knew it was not. 

Ever since cave dwellers started burying their dead with garlands of flowers, the same chorus had gone up from grieving lovers, mates, parents, _if only I had him back, had her back, just for a day_. Ennis had long since added his voice to that; but with no more reason than all his predecessors to think he would get his wish, and his first reaction was blind shock. In the next second, all the grief and guilt and the bitterness of the might-have-beens that had tortured him over the last year came rushing back. “Oh God – Jack….” And though he’d told himself that he was through with that, no matter how persistent the pain was, he found himself repeating what he’d done the last time he and Jack had touched each other: kneeling, sobbing and hanging onto Jack as if he were drowning. 

Ennis heard Jack’s unmistakable voice, a younger and lighter one than at their last meeting: “it’s alright – it’s alright – I’m sorry I gave ya such a shock, bud – it was a surprise ta me, too… couldn’t think of any good way to wake ya…. “ This was not the insubstantial shape Ennis had felt in his dreams, nor even what he’d felt when they’d silently repeated the vows at Junior’s wedding. It was as solid and warm as Jack’s body had ever felt in life, and the fingers that gently lifted his face up a little were the same. 

“God, how I’ve been wanting to do this.…” Jack whispered. His lips grazed the outer contours of Ennis’ left ear and strayed into the patch of slightly curled hair just above. “I can see you sometimes, never could touch you, not till that day in the church…..” His fingertips traced across his lover’s forehead and down the side of his jaw to his neck, while he kissed the closed and tear-splashed eyelids. Then Jack’s mouth moved down and Ennis tasted his own tears, his own lips parting automatically in recognition. 

Then he opened his eyes and looked into the beloved face he had expected never to see again. Not the embittered man of their last meeting, with 20 years of disappointment and loneliness behind him, but Jack as he had been when Ennis had sent up a prayer of thanks for his return after four years; Jack as he’d looked by the firelight offering the life they could have had: _a little cow and calf operation, could be a sweet life_.

He reached up with his right hand to Jack’s face, then his left shoulder and chest, and everything was as he remembered it in life: the face’s contours, how the beard stubble grew, the exact width of the ridge at the top of the shoulder with the hard bone at the top and softer fleshy part underneath, the tapering muscles of the arms. “I thought you were dead.” It was a hoarse whisper.

“I _am_ dead as far as anybody on your side is concerned,” Jack answered. “But I’m as alive as you are. I couldn’t quit ya, Ennis, not before, not now. Couldn’t just leave after that last time – I decided ta stay around just on the other side, wait for you.”

“I don’t get it – how is it you’re here? Where _are_ we?” Ennis pulled back a little but kept his hands on Jack’s knees, terrified that he would disappear in the next moment. 

“I’ve gotta pretty good idea.” Jack stripped his coat off, the same one, Ennis now saw, he had been wearing that summer. “Later. We’ve got a weddin’ night ta get to.”

Ennis suddenly didn’t care what had happened, or how. All he could think of was having Jack close to him, being inside him, pressing every inch of bare skin either of them had together, and he began to unsnap his own shirt and unbuckle the belt of his jeans. Jack pulled off the bright blue shirt he was wearing and Ennis heard a loud hissing-ripping sound.

“Told ya the Velcro was a good idea.” Jack grinned, pulling his shirt off with one motion and Ennis started to laugh, “you crazy sonofabitch,” pulled off his boots.

They both gasped as they rolled onto the bedding, the whole lengths of their bodies pressed together; mouths, entwined legs, both their dicks already hard. Jack put one hand down and closed over both of them as Ennis’ hands moved down his lover’s back to his buttocks, feeling the outlines of every familiar muscle like hard flat ropes. It only took a few moments for the dam to burst for both of them and Ennis felt the warm, sticky vital fluid run onto his belly, as he had not felt in two years except in the dreams that never satisfied.

Then they replayed their first night together, Jack rising to his knees and Ennis plunging into him; not with the drunken haste of that night but with a slow, passionate glide. As he started to move, he became aware of another difference: he could feel not only his own sensations but a shadow of Jack’s as well. A surprised grunt from Jack told him that Jack had not anticipated this either. He didn’t wait for Jack to grab his right hand as before but wrapped it around Jack’s cock and felt a faint tracing of fingers around his own as well. 

They made love tirelessly, more than they had even as very young men. Ennis saw the blue gleam of Jack’s eyes in the odd half-light as Jack lay beneath him; then a little later felt the heat of Jack’s balls cupped in his hand as he lipped and sucked the velvety surface of Jack’s still-hard member, something he’d only done a occasionally before and only when Jack had asked him. There were no barriers tonight.

Finally they collapsed temporarily in each others’ arms and Ennis was gasping, shaking as if he was facing a flattening wind, his blood pounding in this ears, his throat, even his feet. He was not weeping but his breath came in jerky, gulping sobs and he had an odd feeling of something detaching, being pulled outward.

In the next instant he was suddenly looking at a transparent horizon that stretched in all directions, something with no boundaries that was not part of the mountain or even the world he lived in any longer. And he was suddenly weightless, a being that was joyous and fearless and far-seeing. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, with all his inner wounds and bruises and scars vanished along with the body’s heaviness and fragility; but at the same time he knew that he was more himself than he had ever been.

Then he was close to something he saw as a giant river in flood, rushing between stone cliffs the funneled it into a moving wall. He understood that his mind was doing its best to make ordinary sense of what it perceived: unimaginable power, infinite love, perfect justice: something so far beyond the ambition, heroism, love and evil of all flesh that these evaporated before It like a handful of water thrown into a blazing brush fire. There was nothing beyond It, nothing that was not part of It, and he could feel It where it had always been; the source of every breath he took. It wasn’t within him like an organ of his body, or food or drink that he swallowed; but rather like the rushing mountain streams were within each of their drops of water. He knew within an instant what he and Jack had always been to each other, how long they had loved; and wondered how either of them could ever have forgotten.

It lasted only a few moments and Ennis knew, as he felt himself being drawn back into Jack’s arms, that he would remember none of this the next day; but it didn’t matter. His regrets over the blasted years, what they could have had together but that he had thrown away, would remain as long as his body did; but so would the memory of this night with Jack, these hours of grace he had never expected and even now wasn’t sure he deserved. 

 

He was back in the tent, sitting up but still shaking as if standing in a flattening wind. With his arms still around him and supporting him, Jack leaned over and whispered, “not what they talk about in Sunday School, is it, cowboy?” and he knew that Jack had already seen what he had.

The memory was already losing focus and dissolving, but lingered long enough for Ennis’ desire to be back in the world he had glimpsed to be as vehement as his desire for Jack had ever been; and he blurted out something he hadn’t even considered before no matter how bad his pain got. “I don’t hafta go back,” he gasped. “I can get myself wet in that stream an’ go to sleep on the bank. It’s cold tonight, it’d be quick and look like an accident…”

Jack sat back just far enough to look him full in the face. “Don’t even think about that,” he said with unusual firmness. “I wanta be with you all the time more’n anything, but if you stick it out, you might be able to finish what we planned an’ we’ll be free and clear. Besides,” he watched Ennis’ face closely, “you know someone or other’d go looking for you when you don’t come back. And someone will have to identify your body, and maybe the buzzards’ll get at it before they find you. Someone’ll have to bury you. You wanna guess at who that’ll likely be?”

Ennis could see Alma Jr. in her wedding dress, her eyes glowing at him through the veil -- _who gives this woman_ \-- and could feel the hug she’d given him as he’d stepped away toward the waiting pew. And he suddenly recalled a long-ago church picnic Alma had talked him into attending, hearing Jenny’s 6-year-old voice calling “Daddy, look!” from far above his head. He’d looked up and had seen her perched triumphantly in the branch of an old shade tree, a good 15 feet off the ground. Alma had been horrified; but he’d just stood underneath her and called “here, darlin’!” and she’d trustingly dropped right into his waiting arms. 

“No,” Ennis said bleakly, feeling what he imagined was the full weight of the coming years on him. “You’re right, I can’t do that. Don’t know why I thought a doin’ it.”

“I do but that don’t matter,” Jack answered. “What matters right now is we got our weddin’ night.” He lay down on the quilt and bedding, stretched out and smiled up at Ennis. “But you gotta understand, cowboy, it might be just here and just tonight.”

Ennis lay down next to him, ran his hand over Jack’s face, then his left shoulder and chest; everything as he remembered it in life: the face’s contours, how the beard stubble grew, the exact width of the ridge at the top of the shoulder with the hard bone at the top and softer fleshy part underneath, the tapering muscles of the arms. “So we’ll make the most of it, like we always have,” he said, though without bitterness now. “But where exactly are we?”

“Nearest I can tell we’re in some in-between place, not quite on my side an’ not quite on yours. It happened ‘cause of a whole lot a things, mostly what you did.”

“Ya mean comin’ up here?”

“Partly that but partly other things. You went up ta see my folks in Lightning Flat, sat there across from my old man and faced everything you had ta face. I thought you’d never find those shirts in the closet but I finally did get ya to look toward it, that was the first time I made any kinda contact and believe me, I’d been tryin’. And then after you got home, all them things you swore in that shrine you put up—“

“My closet door ain’t no shrine.”

“Sacred is as sacred does, bud. You think those shirts are special ‘cause one a Santa’s elves sprinkled some magic dust on ‘em when they were bein’ made? They’re special because I kept ‘em all those years, away from where anybody but Mama could see ‘em, and the same with that church where we said the vows. It’s a special place ‘cause the people there believe it is. And all the things you said – swearin’ ain’t just words, bud, it’s like throwin’ a rock. It’s gonna hit something, even if it’s just the ground. And you went through with your daughter’s wedding too, even though it wasn’t easy for ya, and right in the middle of it we did what we never did and should’ve – said to each other you’re mine and I’m yours and we want it that way. And your talkin’ with my mama, that wasn’t easy neither but you went ahead an’ did it. Tell you what, cowboy, you’ve been givin’ me some surprises lately.”

Ennis was beginning to feel slightly drowsy but quickly shook it off, suspecting that Jack would be gone when he woke. “I can’t believe you waited. After all that – all them things we shoulda had….” All those years of the man Jack had loved treating him as a shameful secret. 

“That was just a detour we took, one we shouldn’t ‘ve. But there’s another reason you can’t go with me just now. You’ve got things ta do, maybe find somebody else to pitch a tent with.” 

Ennis knew that his face had suddenly reddened, and that Jack saw it. “Jack, I don’t even wanta think about that.” _Be out of town for a few days, got a favor to do for a friend_ his exact words from the last phone call from David. _Liar, even on your wedding night._ But Jack smiled knowingly, and Ennis wondered how much Jack could read his thoughts and didn’t want to ask. “Remember what you swore a few months ago? You were lookin’ at those shirts but talkin’ to me, sayin’ you weren’t gonna waste the rest of your life, I’m holdin’ you to that. Don’t hafta be somebody else, you gotta decide yourself what that means.”

“But you said this was our wedding night –that means we’re married.” 

“Sure we are,” Jack answered. “An’ not just because of words we spoke when you were sittin’ in a church either. You and me’s forever. But we can only be together when we’re both on the same side. As long as I’m on one side and you’re on another, you’re a widower. You ain’t gonna be cheatin’ on me livin’ a sweet life with somebody who cares about you and needs you, an’ if that’s what you want. But you will be if you let yourself dry up. And what the hell, you were unfaithful to me for 20 years, you knew it but ya didn’t stop.”

“Jack, I never—“

Jack’s voice was not angry or accusing but his words were both painful and puzzling. “Ennis, what we’d planned was, we were gonna be different – people some folks don’t want ta even exist. And you were gonna go ahead and be what you were, have what you oughta have, without waitin’ for people to be standin’ around applaudin’, and I was gonna do that with you, I owed you that.

“But your fear, it came first with you. Always, you put that first, every time, it took my place in our bed, put us in a box where we could hide away from everybody -- includin’ you. So when I wasn’t right there with you, you could pretend it never happened, wasn’t real life. And my part, I just tried to grab what I could here an’ there, from you, from other guys. Didn’t stand up to you like I would’ve, if I hadn’t wanted ta do it the easy way too. That’s the other reason not ta just end it now, it’d be like our fishing trips – together for awhile but if you don’t finish what we started we’ll just hafta go through some of the same crap again.“ 

In one part of his mind, Ennis was still puzzled but the other part made him shake his head and smile. “You ain’t changed a bit have you, Jack Twist? Still don’t wanna settle for beans.”

“Well, when all’s said an’ done I did settle for beans and that was a mistake. Don’t you do it now.”

Ennis hated the pleading sound of his voice but he couldn’t resist asking. “Before I’m back with you on your side – I’ll see you again?” “When I can reach ya,” Jack answered. “I’ve done it once or twice, ya know, not just in that church but while you’re asleep.” But I’m never very far off, almost as close to you as you are. No matter where you are, and if it takes years.” 

_If it takes years, oh God_. “I still don’t understand, Jack,” he said bleakly, feeling what he imagined was the full weight of the coming years on him. “But I’ll try an’ do what you say, live my life.” 

Jack pulled him closer. “You gotta do more than that for us, cowboy,” he whispered gently. “You gotta learn to hold your life. Like I’m holdin’ you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Try as he might, sleep wouldn’t take no for an answer forever. It hadn’t crept up on him or drifted over him but had clubbed him over the head. Or maybe, he thought as Sincie carefully picked her way down the slopes, it was like Curt had mentioned once about surgery he’d had years ago: no drowsiness, just looking up at the doctor one minute and waking up the next. As he had known, he had been alone again when he woke up, with morning daylight pouring through the tent’s little screen window and the sound of the stream and the busy voices of the birds outside. He lay motionless for a long time, wondering again if the night had been an unusually vivid dream. 

Finally he unzipped the tent’s fly opening, crawled outside and started to stand up. Before he was even fully on his feet, he staggered and sat back down again for a few moments. He could feel every muscle in his legs, all of them aching; and his lower back and shoulders and arms felt like he had been lifting weights. The skin on his chin and neck and groin had the familiar abrasive, raw feeling that Jack’s beard stubble had often left and now he could also feel a latticework of stinging scratches here and there on his back. 

When he felt steady enough on his feet to roll up the tent and pack his gear, he noticed telltale stiff spots here and there in the bedding. Getting Sincie saddled up was a minor ordeal, as his arms didn’t seem to want to lift anything higher than his chest but he finally managed it, the mare twisting her head around and looking at him quizzically. As always when camping, he went to pour dirt on the embers of the campfire to ensure that no fugitive sparks could blow into the trees or onto the dry duff, and was surprised to find the ashes completely cold; not even a warm spot at the bottom. But he scattered a few handfuls of soil onto the ashes anyway.

Before packing the last of his gear, he drank a little of the water left over from last night, but did not wash himself. Although he was long accustomed to bathing in cold water, he’d detected the scents of sweat and semen and earth on his body and wanted to keep them a little longer. After managing to get up in the saddle by leading Sincie next to a stump at the edge of the campsite, he sat looking for awhile at the bluff and at the view of the meadow, again recalling standing ankle-deep in the stream and watching Jack as a tiny figure, shrunken as much by the landscape as by the distance.

Just as he had at Junior’s wedding after Jack had unexpectedly joined him, Ennis tried to puzzle out the events of the night before within the closely-spaced brackets of the world he lived in. There were probably people who could Scotch-tape together some logical explanations of the scratches on his back and the other evidences of how he’d spent the night. But he couldn’t think of any that were more believable than it simply happening in the way Jack had said it did. Oddly, he felt a shadow of the sensation he’d had after that long vigil with the shirts over a year ago: the feeling of having been condensed down to a soul and naked bones. This time, however, there was a warmth at the center that he mentally hugged to himself as he took out some of the recollections of the night before and turned them over and over.

They’d made love several more times, but had also talked for long intervals between. At one point, limp and temporarily sated, he lay on the bedding next to Jack with his head still resting on Jack’s knees. “I don’t know,” he’d said tentatively, “you’re gonna wait for me for years? Just driftin’ around in wherever all that time, all alone?” He knew that what he should say: _don’t do that for me, go on with whatever happens after_ but couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

“I ain’t alone here, bud,” Jack had unexpectedly answered. “Oh, I ain’t tellin’ you I’m doin’ any socializin’, but I’m not the only one who’s stuck around just inside the door. There’s other people here and there, people with little kids mostly. And it might be years ta you, but time don’t work the same way here. For you, on your side, it’s like a shotgun house, one room right behind the other. But here it’s more like a bunch of hallways goin’ off in all directions with lots of doors along all of ‘em. Maybe they all double back on each other, but I ain’t sure of that yet, maybe I’m just not far enough on the other side. I understand some things and remember some things, but I ain’t all that much smarter than I ever was.”

By the time he got back to the trailhead and his truck that afternoon, Ennis was feeling surprisingly hungry, even a little dizzy. Stopping at the same diner on the highway, he ordered a hamburger, fries and coffee and discovered that he was not just satisfying his hunger but truly relishing a meal for the first time in years. He could taste the rendered blood and muscles in the meat, the smooth sweetness of the ketchup and the contrasting bite of the mustard and onion; and could smell the fragrances of wheat and yeast in the bread. He held the hot ceramic coffee cup between his hands and inhaled fresh coffee and milk as he sipped it.

“Everythin’ okay?” It was the same waitress who had warned him about the snow on the upper slopes before. “Sure is, ma’am,” he told her. “Better ‘n okay. I was real hungry when I got here.”

She laughed a little. “I’m glad you like your dinner but actually I meant ta ask you if _you_ were okay. When you didn’t show up yesterday I was a little worried, thought maybe you’d tried to go too far up anyway and somethin’ happened to you. The cook said I was just bein’ silly, you’d probably just decided not to stop on your way back but I was glad ta see your truck pull up anyway.”

His heart seemed to pause and then jerk forward, and his head throbbed briefly. “Uh, no ma’am,” he managed to get out. “Just decided to stay over some, uh, found a real nice campsite.” She nodded and refilled his coffee cup from the glass carafe in her hand, and moved off, and he sat for several moments wondering how long his wedding night had actually been.

On the counter nearby was a jumbled pile of newspaper sections, left by various customers during the day and kept out for other customers to read. Forcing himself not to hurry, Ennis picked up a few sections and made himself go back to his table before turning one over and looking at the date at the top of the page. Tuesday.

 _Tuesday_. He’d arrived at Lightning Flat on Saturday, got to the trailhead early Sunday afternoon after a long steady drive and had planned to start back for Riverton on Monday. His and Jack’s wedding night had not been a night at all, but two nights and a full day.

He sat sipping his coffee for a long time, recalling again Jack’s description of how time passed for him, and wondering how many of those corridors he and Jack had wandered through during those hours. A song came on the jukebox that he remembered hearing just a few years ago, probably remembered it for its rather horsy lyrics:

_All the long, lazy mornings in pastures of_  
Green, the sun on your withers, the wind in  
Your mane, could never prepare you for what lies ahead.  
The run for the roses so red. 

_And it's run for the roses as fast as you can._  
Your fate is delivered. Your moment's at hand.  
It's the chance of a lifetime in a lifetime of  
Chance. And it's high time you joined in the dance.  
It's high time you joined in the dance. 

 

“I dunno about somebody else,” he’d told Jack doubtfully. “I’d feel like I was dancin’ on your grave.” 

“Pretty strange thing for you ta say, I’ve seen ya try to dance, cowboy,” Jack said with the same cocky smile of both his memory and the photo Mrs. Twist had given him. “But I don’t care if you’re dancin’ on my grave or anyplace else so long as you’re dancin’. Whether you wanna dance by yourself or with somebody else, that’s up ta you, just don’t go makin’ some kinda shrine outta me, like some old church guy in a stained glass window. Next time you think about me, try an’ remember somethin’ ta laugh about.” Ennis listened idly to the rest of the song and didn’t laugh, but he found himself smiling a little.

On the drive back to Riverton, Ennis stopped at the crest of the hill where, approaching the mountain on the drive from Riverton, he could first get a clear look at it. Pulling the truck over into a turnout, he sat for almost an hour, looking at the mountain’s twin peaks for what he knew was the last time. He would never again go to Brokeback in this life, not until someone took his own ashes to scatter. 

When he got back, he resolved to put that in writing, so that when his time came no one would wonder whether it was a real place.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 3: The Two Exiles  
September 1984

It didn’t take long, after his return to Riverton, for Ennis to get caught up temporarily in more mundane concerns.

The first night back he left most of the camping gear in the back of the truck, only bringing in his battered daypack and the rolled-up quilt. He pulled out the photograph of Jack in its plastic sleeve and looked at it for a long time, one finger lightly touching first one imaged feature then the next: eyes first, the smiling mouth, slightly rumpled hair, the small hollow at the base of the neck. 

Other images flitted by: Jack’s face across the campfire years ago on Brokeback, listening to him tell about the scattering of his family, _Friend, that’s more words than you’ve spoken in two weeks_. Four years later, stopping for breakfast on their way to the mountains, across a table at a truck stop, and eight years after that, in the kitchen of Don Vroe’s cabin, an older Jack, smiling less often now all dissolving into the featureless ashes that the wind had carried away toward one of Brokeback’s twin summits, except for what was now in Jenny’s decorated coffee can. But most of all, Jack as he’d just seen him on their wedding night, looking up at him with his dark hair turned ebony in the diffuse bluish light; seeming to have shed several years as if he’d taken off an old coat. Ennis had an odd sense of all these worlds existing side by side, like separate but almost identical rooms in the same motel. 

He replaced the top sheet on the bed with Jack’s quilt, keeping an old blanket folded nearby to put over it on short notice if Junior or Jenny stopped by. Feeling it next to his skin every night as he dozed off would seem both a light embrace and a nod of encouragement to the still-tentative shoots putting out their first leaves. He hadn’t sorted out everything Jack had said during their reunion, but felt that he had shouldered a solemn obligation although presently without a clue as to what to do next.

The phone rang, _David_ , Ennis thought; and was a little surprised to hear Jenny’s voice, telling him that Junior wanted everyone to come by for dinner Friday night. “I’m goin’ to visit Luanne this weekend like we talked about, Daddy. Figured you wouldn’t get off work again that soon, so Mama and Junior are gonna drive me down Saturday morning, and I’m comin’ back Tuesday on the Greyhound.”

“That’s fine, darlin’.” He could neither regret the trip to Lighting Flat nor ignore the little splinter of pain at once more not being there for her. “I’ll be there Friday, an’ help you move your stuff later.” While he knew it would serve no purpose to tell either of them, Alma was not the only one who would have felt more at ease with Jenny moving to Casper or Cheyenne.

It was more, he knew, than just a parent’s usual worry about a newly grown child leaving home. His love for both his daughters had always been a safe haven, requiring no subterfuge and inspiring neither fear nor conflict nor shame. It was the only important thing that he and Alma had truly shared in their marriage and he did not have to pretend any feelings for his daughters that he didn’t sincerely have. In the four months that Junior had her own household, no longer part of Alma’s and Monroe’s, he’d spent more time in her and Jenny’s company and had become attached to this new, tentative family life without even noticing. The ground had somehow leveled out, but now it was shifting again. 

Later that night the phone rang a second time, an unusual occurrence for Ennis’ trailer home, and this time, as he’d expected, with David at the other end: “how was your trip north?” “Huh, okay. Got cold but I camped out a few nights.” The slight flare of excitement, a certain pleasurable tenseness that he felt on hearing David’s voice was not an unpleasant surprise. Something was forming akin to the sensation he’d felt in talking to Jack from the beginning, of being at home in his own skin. 

“It was a friend’s mama,” he added unexpectedly. “His dad died and she’s movin’ away, had some things to give me. But now I got my youngest girl ta think of, just 18 and she’s movin’ down ta Denver, Curt’s sister needs a new roommate.” 

“And you’re worried about her.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Jenny ain’t never lived anyplace outside of Riverton before, hasn’t lived on her own anyplace. I taught her how ta ride a horse and I can tell her how to keep from gettin snakebit if she’s out in the woods, but this – I wanna see what kinda place she’s livin in.” Ennis listened to his own voice with some surprise. He hadn’t realized until that moment how unsettling the idea was of either of his daughters being so far away and vulnerable to dangers he had no way of preparing her for.

“You mean what the neighborhood’s like?“

“Yeah… thought I’d drive around at least.”

David was immediately full of advice. “If you’re gonna do that, be sure you get there on a Friday, and drive around the neighborhood after dark. Lots of neighborhoods in cities look okay in the daytime but change at night. And the next day, Saturday, you find the biggest supermarket in the neighborhood and go spend an hour or so there, early in the afternoon would be good. You won’t see all her neighbors but you’ll see a good sample of em. Just those two things can tell you a lot.”

Ennis thought for a moment. “Yeah. That shouldn’t be hard ta do.”

“As for keepin’ her safe – well, there’s no guarantee if you give somebody advice they’ll take it. Especially if they’re 18 and hot to get out an’ see the world. But you can at least warn her if you see anything, and you’ll know what to warn her about if you look over the neighborhood. Streets that aren’t lit up good at night, places you see rough-lookin people hanging out, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah – yeah, that’d help, thanks.” He had never thought much about what his daughters did when they were out of his sight, hadn’t wanted to. Though it had been a relief in one sense, it had also meant that he had become a visitor in their lives, _just like Jack had_ he thought ironically, and in the new life Jenny was so eager to get to, he wouldn’t even see her regularly. But at least he could now focus his concern on something he could actually do for her. David’s advice suddenly made it seem that someone else was involved, even at such a distance, and it was a mysteriously heady feeling.

On Friday afternoon, Ennis was surprised to find the family in the driveway of Junior’s and Curt’s tiny house, gathered around a small blue car. “Daddy!” Jenny yanked the truck’s door open and he thought for a moment she was going to drag him out. “Mama and Monroe got me a car, my own car! Come see!” Alma and Monroe were standing by the side of the driveway, Alma watching him with her usual cautious expression and Monroe smiling at him a little nervously. “I hope you don’t mind, Ennis,” he said. “Jenny’s been wanting to live in the city and we figured if she doesn’t move to Denver it’ll be somewhere else, she’s going to need a car of her own.” “S’okay with me,” Ennis answered shortly. He didn’t begrudge Jenny the gift, but knowing that Monroe, not even a blood relative, could give Jenny so many things he could not was a painful reminder and hardly pleasant.

The car was a 1977 Plymouth Arrow; a “survival jalopy,” as Curt called it. “But a pretty good one,” he reassured Ennis as the two leaned over the car’s opened hood. “Decemt shape for a 7-year-old used car. Does need new hoses, she shouldn’t be drivin it as far as Denver till that’s done but the Arrows, they’re good cars. People who have em don’t sell em too often. Only thing is they aren’t much good on ice, she might want to get a lift with Luanne a lotta days in the winter. But Jenny’ll need a car if she’s gonna be living on her own.”

“Daddy, you’re still planning to help me move, aren’t you?” Jenny sounded genuinely worried. “I can’t hardly fit everything in this car.” “I was plannin on it,” he answered. “Wanna see where you’re gonna live.” 

Curt paid a visit to an auto parts store early Saturday morning, and he and Ennis were already at work on the survival jalopy when Alma, Junior and Jenny started out for Denver, Jenny putting more baggage into the back seat of the car than Ennis would have thought she’d need in a month and Junior with a camera and the sketch book she’d bought recently. “I’ll take some shots of the room you’re gonna have, help you decorate it,” she’d told Jenny at the family dinner last night, and Alma had nodded. “Your wife’s got a talent none of us even knew about before she started fixing up this place,” she’d remarked to Curt. “Jenny will have the prettiest room in the apartment.” It was the first positive remark she’d made about Jenny’s plans.

Ennis watched them drive out of sight, but Curt was still fiddling with the new clamp he was putting on the battery, replacing a loose connection he’d discovered the day before. “That should hold it,” he said with satisfaction. “These things always go bad on ya at the worst times, when the weather’s bad or when you’re in a hurry to get someplace.” “Appreciate this, Curt,” Ennis turned his attention back to the car. “You’re good at fixin’ machinery, spot problems before they start.”

Curt grunted and tossed the keys to Ennis. “Start it up, wilya? Let’s do it a coupla times, make sure that connection’s good.” Ennis started the little car twice, with the engine jumping to life immediately both times, and Curt nodded. “Wish that damn foreman of mine’d hear you say that,” he grumbled, wiping his hands on a shop cloth before closing the car’s hood. “Just last week, forklift was leakin oil like mad, about 3 quarts a day. I figured it was a front seal, but the boss won’t listen, insists that it needs a filter. So he has me jack up the forklift, change the oil and the filter and just let it go on leaking 3 quarts and **then** he says, it probably is a front seal. And even then – I don’t get no credit; it’s just ‘how soon can you get that done? Last thing we need right now is a goddam forklift out of commission!’ “

Ennis leaned against the car door and lit a cigarette, knowing that neither Junior nor Jenny was there to fuss at him about stopping smoking. “Well, maybe you oughta look around Riverton for another job. Or Casper, maybe.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. I know a guy at work, his old man owns a business that sells used equipment, fix ‘em up with other old pieces they part out. Can’t say I wanna be talkin’ to Zack much, though. The way I seen look at some of the other guys now an’ then, keep thinkin’ he might be queer.” It was as casual as a remark about the weather and Ennis managed not to react visibly but felt his neck muscles tighten slightly. _He might as well a been talkin about Jack_. But “can’t do any harm in askin him though,” was all he said, making sure not to look at Curt directly. “Just see if he’ll check with his old man, it’s not like you hafta go out drinkin with him.” Curt thought about that for a moment. “Yeah. Guess I could do that.” Ennis started to collect the scattered tools, anxious now to finish the project and get home.


	13. Chapter 13

**October 1984**

It was chilly, with constant snow flurries, a month later when Ennis followed the now-smoothly running blue car toward Casper and then down Interstate 25 toward Denver, but had become sunny by the time they were driving through the suburbs in the late afternoon. Both Ennis and Alma had been disappointed, though not surprised, when Jenny had come home full of plans for her move. “There’s plenty of places I can get a job, work in a store if I have to. But I might be able ta get some singin’ jobs! Luanne knows a lot of people in the churches around there, I can do some singin’ in churches and they pay, too. And there’s lots a people my age, more stores, more ta do, more everything than Riverton, just in that one little corner of Denver….” She’d chattered to Junior and Alma about the apartment, the stores where she’d window-shopped, the restaurant Luanne and her friends had taken her to as she rooted through her closet and chest of drawers, sorting out the clothes she was taking with her to her new life. Ennis still felt apprehensive as Jenny loaded possessions in the back seat of the survival jalopy and he secured larger objects in the truck bed with bungee cords, but he wondered if a big city might be the best place for her after all.

Jenny seemed to have changed more in the process of growing up than Junior had. She’d bought a used sewing machine and had designed many of her own clothes, saving basic purchased patterns and combining them into a look that was uniquely hers, with flowing lines, vibrant colors and styles that were simple but feminine. Neither of her parents knew, although Junior did, that in the last few years Jenny had spent considerable time in serious rehearsal in front of the full-length mirror on her bedroom door; practicing facial expressions, sitting and standing, smiles, gestures, just the right tilt of the head, how to flatten her nose when giving someone a special smile so that her upper lip didn’t curl under. The result so far was a young woman who was not beautiful, but who had a hard-won presence that tended to attract and hold attention. 

The trip from the outskirts of town to Luanne’s neighborhood seemed to take longer than the rest of the drive down from Riverton. As was now typical in large cities, the suburbs seemed indistinguishable from each other: mile after mile after mile of shopping centers, stores that looked like huge warehouses with acres of parking lots, restaurants, convenience stores; subdivisions with beige and pale gray houses that all looked alike and sat so close together their roofs almost touched. Lines of idling cars stretched out behind each stoplight, of which there seemed to be four or five for every mile. And here and there, pathetic remnants of nature allowed to exist on the fringes: strips and patches of grass and struggling, mostly doomed shrubs and slender young trees. 

They finally stopped in a narrow parking lot in front of a half-dozen buildings, as much alike to Ennis’ eyes as all the others in the neighborhood. “Hey, Jenny! I’ll give you a hand with this stuff,” he heard a young woman’s voice say as he pulled down the truck’s tailgate. He looked up to see Curt’s sister, whom he remembered from the wedding only vaguely: a girl a little older than Jenny, somewhat unkempt strawberry-blond hair incongruously light brown at the roots but tidily dressed in dark blue slacks and a white sweater, a heavy silver cross conspicuously around her neck. She was the kind of woman that those fond of euphemism tended to describe as “feisty”; a term that was useful as a warning for more discerning observers.

Ennis felt an obligation to say something to her. “ ‘Preciate your inviting Jenny ta stay here,” he managed as they carried boxes and armloads of clothes into the nearest building, which apparently had four apartments like the rest. “She’s been wantin ta live in a bigger town for awhile, I know.” “I’ve been looking forward to it,” she answered briskly. “It’ll be good to have somebody from a good Christian background living here. No problems finding the place?”

“We found it okay. Took awhile ta get through town.”

“Oh, you might’ve took the long way in. I’ll give you other directions before you start home tomorrow.” She had a managing though good-natured air about her that suddenly reminded Ennis of David’s aunt whom he’d met so briefly at the wedding. He wondered if it was a family trait.

To Ennis, the apartment had a flat, claustrophobic atmosphere with low ceilings, small windows and rooms that seemed not much bigger than the sleeping area of his trailer. _Junior’ll have some work brightening this up_ , he thought but Jenny seemed to find no flaw in it. “Think I’ll move the bed over near that window,” she said, stacking up boxes in one corner. Luanne shook her head. “Wouldn’t if I were you. The sun’ll wake you up early whether you want to or not.” “Well, I’ll let Junior deal with that,” Jenny replied deftly. “We can pick out some curtains.”

Jennyr invited him to stay with them overnight. “You can sleep on the sofa, Daddy,” but Ennis shook his head. “You need your privacy, darlin’, you just got here an’ haven’t even moved in yet. I’m just gonna get some sleep and head back first thing in the morning.”

The Red Roof Inn that Luanne had recommended was in the price range always indicated by a single dollar sign on directories; but it seemed luxurious compared with what he was used to and he was suddenly aware of how weary he was. It was an enervated feeling: not the kind induced by heavy work or lack of sleep, but rather a sensation of the blood being drained from his body drop by invisible drop; and a dull headache was forming somewhere at the base of his neck. He avoided even sitting on the bed but took a quick shower and headed to a coffee shop nearby to wait for nightfall. 

Ennis drove around for over an hour, through commercial areas and then off through side streets, looking for the telltale signs David had suggested: deserted streets, neglected parking lots, boarded-up store fronts, loiterers outside liquor stores and convenience stores, an unusual number of houses and apartments with burglar bars. After dark, the area seemed even more crowded and jangling with the noise of too many people living too close together than it was in the daytime. But he saw no signs of anything dangerous, though he noted the names of streets that didn’t appear to be well lit. He was satisfied with the expedition by the time he got back to the motel, but the headache and lethargic feeling were even worse. Lying in the dark and listening to the sounds of traffic outside, weary but finding sleep surprisingly elusive, he suspected that this was how any big city would affect him and wondered how other people could stand living in such human anthills, with someone always at one’s elbow. He wasn’t having trouble breathing, but had an odd feeling of being able to take only small sips of air at a time, and stale air at that. 

He slept later than he’d intended the next morning, but it didn’t matter. David had told him to check out a supermarket in the late morning or early afternoon on Saturday, when it would be the most crowded. Finding the giant box of a store wasn’t difficult; just a matter of driving back to the intersection where they’d turned off for Luanne’s apartment and continuing down the main road. It was easily four times the size of the Riverton store where Alma had worked when they were first married.

Ennis wandered down the aisles, picking up a bag of chips and a few cans of fruit juice for the trip home. Unaccustomed to looking directly at people he didn’t know, he made himself scrutinize the customers who kept getting into shopping-cart traffic jams. There were plenty of other young single people, a few elderly men and women studying the shelves as if they were making major decisions, and a host of weary-looking mothers with babies and children who all seemed to be either crying or chattering. Watching them he smiled a little inwardly, recalling when Jenny was an infant and Junior a toddler. Oddly, the struggles to deal with two children who were both at such a demanding age had never been a bad memory for him.

“Daddy! Daddy?” he heard Jenny’s startled and then worried voice behind him. “What’re you doin here? I thought you were headin home first thing this morning, something wrong with the truck?”

“No, it’s….” he sorted through his mind for a quick cover story and then decided that the truth would do no harm. “I wanted ta make sure you’re livin in a safe place,” he told her, “so I drove around last night, looked at the neighborhood. And I just stopped in here to…. uh, see who’s livin around here.” _God, don’t let her ask how I got that idea_. 

“But why’d you keep it a secret?”

“I know you didn’t like your mother fussin, and I know you’re grown now, you want to live your own life. You could have a million dollars and a whole army protectin you, an both of us‘d worry. That’s part a havin’ kids. You’ve grown up, you’re goin off on your own and if you fall out of a tree, I won’t be there to catch ya.” He wondered briefly if she remembered that day. He hadn’t for years until Jack had prodded his memory.

“Oh, _Daddy_.” He heard the surprise, and slight sadness, in her voice. “That’s so sweet. Are you going to miss me?” 

“Sure, Jenny. Call as often as ya can, huh? I’m glad you ‘n Junior talked me into gettin that phone.” He didn’t need to wonder why she’d asked.

It was late afternoon before he started back north to Wyoming, deciding to drive all night and stop for coffee often enough to stay awake. He wondered if Jenny and Luanne would get along and why he felt so much better once he’d put a good distance between himself and the megalopolis he’d just left; but these thoughts had drifted away by the time he reached the state line. He was imagining telling David about how well taking his advice had worked out.


	14. Chapter 14

**Early Winter, 1984**

Winter arrived by the end of November, and out came the kerosene heater that Ennis used to keep the trailer liveably warm. Before long the trailer had taken on its usual winter smell of kerosene and coffee constantly hot on the stove and the mingled odors of manure, diesel fuel and mud in the wet work clothing he hung up every night. By December the ground outside had its cold, shiny marble cover: an unbroken expanse in the field across the road, but broken up nearer to the trailer by tire tracks, rectangle-shaped bare spots where vehicles were parked and occasional ruts that would be muddy in the spring.

Last winter was a time that to the end of his life, Ennis tried not to remember. For so long it had been the slow countdown to the year’s first reunion with Jack. Well before the flurry of postcards over where to meet started up in February, he’d have thoroughly catalogued the last meeting in his mind: every touch, every moan and movement, the layout of the campsite, what days it had been cold and how the clouds had looked, animals they saw from horseback. Last winter there was no Jack, no meeting to plan, but his worst bouts of drinking came after he caught himself thinking of likely dates and campsites, anticipating their first frantic coupling, before _never again_ hit him. And this winter—

he felt restless and scattered, impatient for something that eluded him though just barely. He thought again of the winters at the cabin he and Jack should have built in Lightning Flat, sharing late breakfasts and enjoying a wood stove’s warmth while looking out at the icy landscape; but thoughts of Lightning Flat now brought the fresher and more substantial memories of the impossible reunion on Brokeback. 

Anticipation and memory had bracketed his life for over two decades. In both he had felt safe from detection but now, neither satisfied. It was present experience, that twilight country in between that he and Jack had been able to visit so infrequently, that he was beginning to crave now and it soon invaded his sleep with a fugitive erotic dream. It took place in darkness but not a silent or still one: he was embracing a man’s body and feeling the solidity and unyielding contours of a man’s body stretched out against his own, feeling a man’s cock quiver and expand against his belly, hearing a man’s voice whisper in his ear. And he knew on waking, with the memory of Jack’s body forever embedded in the very nerve endings of his hands and mouth and loins, that it was not Jack he’d been dreaming about. Normally he slept a lot in winter, the constant wind with the season’s additional hollow whistle as potent as any sedative; but the new restlessness now kept him awake until very late most nights.

He’d grown used to Jack’s sporadic presence, the occasional whispers and feather-light touches, but Jack sometimes reached him during sleep too, in what Ennis now called “Jack dreams.” Two Jack dreams in a row they were riding side-by-side on horseback, as they’d spent so much time doing in life. Brokeback Mountain was always up ahead of them but tantalizingly elusive; first directly ahead and barely visible on the far horizon; then closer by but off to one side and half-hidden in mists. Neither he nor Jack spoke, apparently not feeling the need for it. But in the dream after that they back in the same bluish void as when Jack had told him he was changing horses, and his comments were as brief and as puzzling. “It ain’t such a bad thing right now, your livin in that trailer,” he remarked. “Some people, they go off in the desert for 40 days or 40 years but you, you’re holed up in a trailer in Riverton. Better for a Wyoming boy from Sage, I guess, less showy.” He looked at Ennis closely for a moment, then smiled and shook his head. “Friend, it’s just as hard ta make you laugh as it ever was. Took me three weeks that first summer, remember?”

He was eating dinner with Junior at least once a week and getting regular bulletins about Curt’s job search. He was looking around Casper, but had made phone calls to other states as well; “a guy he works with, his dad has a business in Texas somewhere.” Junior felt unexpectedly guilty about it. “I know I’ve nagged him a lot but he’d wanted us to live in Casper,” she said ruefully. “I was the one who wanted ta stay here – all our friends from high school were here, guess I just didn’t want things ta change that much.”

“Well, we’re alike that way,” Ennis answered wryly.

He didn’t burden her with his own work-related worries, but he’d spotted the warning signs that Carl Scope’s ranch might be on borrowed time. Scrope had been in and out of the hospital for several months now, and the bookkeeper who came in once of twice a month had heard rumors that he was talking with prospective buyers. They were investors, she’d heard, who might just re-sell the ranch to other buyers but more likely would hold the land for future development. “And you can bet it won’t be a working ranch,” she warned. “This close to a town, they might carve it up for houses to sell when the time’s right.” Riverton had grown over the years, slowly at first, but now the businesses near the old laundromat apartment were getting serious competition from a strip shopping center or two on the highway.

Jenny planned to be home for Christmas for sure, but was staying in Denver for Thanksgiving. She now had a part time receptionist job at a Lutheran church where she’d been singing, and they were having a free Thanksgiving dinner for needy families. “Jenny’s stayin in Denver over Thanksgiving to do volunteer work?” Alma asked Junior with experienced skepticism, and Junior had snorted at that. “She isn’t stayin in Denver to do good deeds. There’s a guy she met at that church, name a Larry. About 21, 22, wants to be a minister, he says.” Ennis had already arranged to be working on Thanksgiving, knowing that neither of his daughters would ever ask why he wanted to avoid Alma’s and Monroe’s house on that day.

But he couldn’t avoid it at Christmas, and arrived feeling the same kind of resolve as he had at the wedding reception. “Ennis,” was Alma's only greeting, though this time they smiled at each other for a fleeting second or two. But he’d not figured on Alma’s two boys, Todd and Carey, being six and four years old, in their prime Santa Claus years, and he spent much of the morning sitting next to Alma Junior while the adults gleefully celebrated December’s celebration of childhood appetite. They marveled at the Santa’s reindeer having devoured the dish of uncooked Quaker Oats left out for them, hunted for batteries that always seemed to be missing when a present needing them was unwrapped, took picture after picture and mediated the occasional febrile quarrels between the two children. It was even mild enough weather than Ennis was able to escape the house briefly to pull the two boys up and down the street in the coaster wagon that had been next to the Christmas tree.

As always, Ennis felt like an outsider or visitor, awkwardly taped onto the edge of the group, but still he wondered how this uneventful, if not yet completely peaceful, co-existence with Alma had come about. Jenny was wearing a small gold cross necklace, more tasteful than Luanne’s. “Larry’s Christmas present,” she told him; and she offered to say a rather long-winded grace at dinner. But she was cheerful, happy with her new life; and he put his vague anxieties aside. His own Christmas shopping was simple and quickly done, and his daughters were not surprised by the gifts they unwrapped from him as he always gave them either sweaters or gloves. But “I use those sweaters you give me for years, Daddy,” Junior told him while they watched Todd and Scott playing tug-of-war over yet another toy. “They’re always the perfect color for me, Jenny’s are too. You’ve got such a good eye for color, guess that’s where I got it from.”

Alma and Monroe had bought an artificial Christmas tree the year before, but a few days before Christmas Monroe had brought home an evergreen wreath and hung it on the front door. As he left the house that night, Ennis broke off a few tiny sprigs at the back of the wreath and put them in a small jar of water on the windowsill of his tiny kitchen. He wasn’t sure why, but he liked looking at it.

 

MUSIC: “Song For a Winter's Night” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60bNzi9dA9U


	15. Chapter 15

**Late winter, 1985**

By the end of February, Ennis began to wonder if he’d soon be looking for another job after all. Carl Scrope had been in the hospital off and on for several months, and the ranch’s bookkeeper Carolyn, who he usually saw only once every few months if that, was in the foreman’s office more and more often. Men he had not seen before, with both automobiles and shoes that marked them as city men, were seen coming and going and he was unexpectedly called on to help with inventories of the Coffeepot’s equipment and supplies.

“You’ve been here awhile, Ennis, so you’ve got a right ta know far as I’m concerned,” Carolyn told him. “Carl’s health don’t look any better and he’s lookin for a buyer, might have one lined up, group of investors.” They might just re-sell it, she’d heard but what looked more likely was that they’d sell off the stock and hold the land to develop later. “And you can bet it won’t be a workin ranch,” she warned. “This close to a medium-size town like Riverton, they’ll prob’ly carve it up for houses sooner or later, soon’s they think they can get a good price for them.”

It wasn’t much of a surprise. So many ranches had closed down the last five years or so, and he’d heard about the “ranchette” developments, though the reach of suburban blight hadn’t extended to Wyoming just yet. In earlier years, it would have been only one of a string of ranch jobs that Ennis had quit, moving on to the same work on another ranch when he needed extended time away to be with Jack. But he knew that ranch foremen would now see a man who was no longer young, often older than themselves in fact; a holdover from a fading era that some prospective employers and foremen didn’t even remember.

He said nothing to Alma Junior, although he knew she might be hearing rumors. But David was another matter. He’d been apprehensive when David had started calling him regularly – months ago now – only that elusive but persistent feeling of familiarity and acceptance to keep him answering the phone in the evenings. But it hadn’t taken long for those qualms to subside enough for him to fetch a beer from the refrigerator when the phone rang, pull up the chair to the phone and put his feet up on an old milk crate as they talked. David’s references to Nathan had been confined to a few neutral reminiscences such as a favorite food or two and Nathan’s half-developed talent for drawing. On those occasions, half-consciously hearing the slight edge in David’s voice, Ennis had always glanced at the closet door and wondered if David had kept some outward sign of inward passion and loss, _that shrine you got_. Their separate but silently shared remembrances, whose boundaries they both respected, had knotted and toughened the connection that both had sensed at their first meeting. 

But their conversations had typically centered around commonplace matters, although David could visualize the other man’s physical surroundings and Ennis could not. Like all people living in cold climates they were both endlessly preoccupied with weather, so that topic didn’t comprise the bits of tape holding weak spots in a conversation together, as it would have been for people living in more temperate regions.

“Might be outta my job soon,” Ennis told David a few weeks later. “There’s talk goin around, and I heard it from the bookkeeper, the owner might be sellin and to investors. So the ranch might not be a ranch much longer.” 

“You gonna be lookin for another job right away? Or wait till spring?”

“I’m waitin ta see what happens at the Coffeepot. It ain’t gonna be easy, lots a ranches closin down the last few years” _And it’s a young man’s work_ taunted him silently, as he catalogued the aches and stiffness that were getting to be a daily thing especially in cold weather.

“Well, if it turns out you’re outta work, how about comin’ here?”

“Wher…Duluth?” If David had suggested he take up a new career as an astronaut or a cabaret dancer, it wouldn’t have been much more surprising. 

“Sure, why not? I can give you a part-time job at the store if you come in the spring, I usually need a few extra people during the summer. And you can stay here ‘s long as you want, there’s plenty of room, I’ve got the whole upstairs of the house.”

Apparently having anticipated Ennis’ stunned silence, David went on: 

“Okay Ennis, all these months we’ve been talkin, there’s things I haven’t asked you about but I’m sure you know by now me and Nathan weren’t just friends. So we need to get something clear. You come out here for awhile, nothin’s gonna happen we don’t both wanna happen. I’m not invitin anybody to be a houseguest and then expect something from em up front. You can have your own room here if you don’t mind a sofa bed, and if you find a place of your own or a job that suits you better, no problem. There’s no reason you even hafta pick up and move here, just come an stay a couple of months. Maybe just gettin away for awhile will help.”

Ennis was gripping the phone in an effort to defy the old familiar inner voice screaming at him to _hang up NOW_. “I ah, dunno….”

“Well at least think about it, spring ‘d be easier anyway so there’s no rush. Just give me a call back if you decide, okay?” He didn’t mention that in all these months he had always been the one to call.

“Yeah,” Ennis heard himself saying. “I’ll think about it.”

After hanging up he sat for awhile with elbows on knees, chin resting in his palms and his hands half-covering his face, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. _Some faggot thinkin he’s gonna get you alone_ , the same inner scold said scornfully, but the wild _yes_ impulse he’d had on hearing David’s suggestion was pushing it back with surprising insistence. 

 

On an afternoon in late February, he watched Curt’s and Junior’s car pull up at the trailer, and knew when he saw her face that she had big news. Curt had found a new job down in Texas, “in Amarillo, he’ll be seein to repairs, keeping parts in stock, stuff like that. The company leases trucks and big trailers, not quite as good pay but decent. Maybe now we can think of startin a family!”

Seeing the expression that crossed his face, she thought she understood. “Daddy, I’ve thought about it, both Jenny and me bein gone, and I’ve been hearin things aren’t goin so well at the ranch. Will you think about moving too? You could stay with us till you find a job and a place to live.”

_Texas_. Amarillo, just a hundred miles or so from Childress. The thought of living there was unimaginable: looking at the face of every man he saw on the street, in stores, wherever he found work; always wondering if he was looking into the face of one of Jack’s killers. For a second he could see the faces and hear the bestial laughter of his nightmares and something familiar started to take form before he slammed the lid down on it hard.

He would go mad, within a year or possibly a lot less.

No good reason he could think of to give her, so he put her off. “I’ve lived here since your Mama and I got married,” he told her. “Never expected to move. Just let me think about it some.” This time, he’d done all the thinking about it he could stand to.

There wasn’t much to move, as Junior and Curt hadn’t lived in their rented four-room house even a year. But he helped her pack and label box after box and willingly ran errands, relieved enough to put some distance between him and the occasional questions about his own plans. He even ate dinner at Alma’s and Monroe’s house the night before Junior left; _twice in three months, that’s a record._ Alma was more sanguine about Junior, now a married woman who was talking of starting a family, moving out of Riverton and her two young boys were enough to occupy her attention. Junior asked again about his plans and Ennis gave one of his noncommittal grunts in reply, but could feel Alma’s eyes on him.

Curt had taken the Greyhound to Amarillo to rent a car and look for an apartment, so Junior was alone when she stopped by the trailer on her way out of town. “Call me when you decide what ta do, Daddy,” she urged, hugging him. “I hate ta think of you here all alone.” “I’ll be okay, you’ve got enough ta do without worryin about me,” he told her. “Just don’t let your Mama and me worry – don’t forget ta call her when you stop for the night. And tomorrow night too and call when you get there.”

He watched the overloaded car disappear down the road, thinking bitterly that Jack had been wrong about passing time here on Earth being like rooms in a shotgun house. It was more like a swift and cruel river current that had angled his boat into a still pool along the shore while he watched his two younger companions’ boats vanish around the next bend.

 

Carolyn’s suspicions proved to be right in early April. Ennis found himself out of a job, with a check for a month’s pay and a promise of recommendations from the now former Coffeepot. Neither he nor the other ranch hands, all of whom adjourned to the Black and Blue Eagle, were surprised. Ennis sat at the bar next to Ken Heiman, who was killing time on his usual schedule, and listened to them cite the reasons: stock being sold off out of season, inventories of equipment all winter, no apparent plans to bring on the usual seasonal workers.

“I expect some of ‘em already know, word gets around,” Roy remarked. “Zack heard, I know, an’ Dean got him a job already at a place down near Tie Siding.”

“And Javier wouldn’t be back anyway,” Ken said. “His sister works with Carol at the coffee shop you know, said his family don’t want nothin ta do with him anymore, seems he got AIDS. You know – what they’re callin the Queer Cancer.”

“You mean “Faggot Fever,” one of the pool players snickered. Out of the corner of his eye, Ennis saw Vickie frown at them but he was the only one who noticed.

Ken upended his beer to get the last swallow and put it back on the counter. “I don’t go ta church much,” Ken said, “but Carol takes the kids every Sunday, or Wednesday if she misses that. According to her, our preacher says all that AIDS stuff is God tryin ta get the queers’ attention, something about how he won’t protect ‘em ‘cause they ain’t natural…. Say, you hear about that new drug they got out now, the new vaccine?” He paused until he saw he had everyone’s attention. “Medical name for it’s ‘trinoacytol.’ “ 

There was a pause, as his listeners each repeated the word in his head, and then a collective shout of derisive laughter. Pleased with the brief attention and implied applause, Ken grinned and signaled to Roy for another beer. 

Ennis had been resolutely staring down at the bar counter, jaw tightly set, thinking of how casually the man he’d worked with the last three seasons had been tossed away, like a dish of moldy food in the back of a refrigerator. He’d passed enough time watching television to have heard of the new “gay disease” and the glee that many people seemed to feel over it. The reports disturbed him but not as much as they might have a few years before. He’d already had his worst fear realized, and others seemed somehow redundant.

Now his muscles pulled his body upright as he swiveled around and glared at Ken. “Goddam, Ken that ain’t funny. You’re talkin about somebody dyin.”

Ken looked startled. “Queers, ya mean,” the pool player said. “You never had no sense a humor, Ennis.”

Ennis felt increasingly cornered. “That don’t matter—“

Ken had recovered a little, glanced around at his audience. “Well Ennis, you an Javier both went on a lotta those trips transportin stock last summer – maybe you know him a bit better’n the rest of us? That it?”

Before Ken had even finshed, Ennis was off the bar stool and had grabbed him by the collar, fist clenched and arm pulled back.

“Ennis!”

He looked around to see Vicky standing in the office door, and lowered his arm. She’d had a hard time of it, he knew, even before her husband had died. Russ had loved a game of pool or a football bet but wasn’t very good at either, often didn’t show up at the bar on football days when he’d been drinking; and now she was running the place by herself. The last thing she needed was two ranch hands in a fistfight, with possible damage and the cops showing up. Ennis pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket, dropped it on the bar without a word and walked out, forcing himself not to look at anyone around him.

The air was cold and still, but Ennis felt overheated. On Sundays when he’d awakened early and couldn’t get back to sleep, he’d seen the television preachers who spoke in gloating tones about their God’s judgment, one of them even glowing with satisfaction when he predicted “divine extermination” and his congregation burst into applause. Something of still sporadic but steadily growing strength was crowding into the space long-occupied by his lifelong and still-persistent fear: a simmering anger at a god who would have condemned Jack but smiled on his killers. _Could a been talkin about Jack_ , he’d thought earlier on listening to Curt’s casual remark; but in the second before his fist would have shot forward he imagined he had seen not Ken’s face but that of the man who’d swung the first tire iron.

He’d parked behind the bar where there were a few extra parking spaces. The unreleased anger took shape in the form of a thousand tiny springs in his muscles, winding tighter and tighter; and the nearest of the four battered trash cans outside the back door didn’t have a chance. Ennis’ right foot swung forward, every spring releasing at once, and the metal can slammed violently, spinning briefly before it fell over and an odorous collection of beer bottles, paper trash and detritus from the grill spilled out. The sound of the impact was gratifying, although the sudden dart of pain in his foot was not.

Ennis leaned over to right the can and scoop up the spilled trash before he heard the back door of the bar open, and did not need to look up to know that Vickie was standing in the doorway. “Sorry Vickie,” he mumbled, “I’ll get ya another one.”

“Don’t bother, Ennis.” He straightened up and saw the apprehension in her face again, but this time it was more concern than fear. “Ain’t the first time somebody’s booted them cans, generally had more ‘n’ the beer or two you just had, though.” It was only dusk when Ennis got back to the trailer, and he leaned on the door for a few minutes after closing it behind him. 

He had tried to avoid the untidy and capricious world of humanity as much as possible ever since he was 9 years old. Since Junior’s wedding it had started to creep, little by little, over the borders he’d set long ago but his comfort level with it was still low; and now the smug meanness had come too close, putting a face on the forces that had cut Jack down so abruptly, and the trailer once again felt like a refuge. The trailer had always been drafty but the wind seemed to have found some new ways in and shivering, he pulled Jack’s quilt off the bed and sat on it wrapping it around him.

He could see what was before him in the following years, as clearly as if they were playing out on the dark television screen.

Finding another ranch job, and then another when that ranch folded; body and mind slowly hardening and stiffening. Spending more and more time in the Black and Blue or some other bar like it depending on what ranch he worked on next, sitting like Ken on a bar stool for hour after hour or perhaps in a corner like a few older ranch hands he’d seen, watching the pool players with a particular bitterness whenever he saw one who reminded him of Jack. More alcohol when he got back to this trailer or another ramshackle shelter like it, staring mindlessly at the television and hoping to dream about Jack when he finally fell asleep. Looking at the calendar where he’d marked the dates of Junior’s and Jenny’s last card or phone call and wondering when he’d be able to mark it again. Surely David wouldn’t keep calling him forever….

Opening the closet door, he ran his left hand slowly down Jack’s shirt underneath his own.

_What’re you waiting for?_

He knew where the nagging thought came from but he felt frozen, right hand gripping the edge of the closet door.

_Ennis, pick up the phone._

The recently tense muscles were now trembling and he felt queasy: not the cold, squirming nausea that he’d last felt that afternoon in Lightning Flat; more like the feeling that he was about to dive off a very high cliff with no knowledge of how deep the water below was.

_Ennis, stop thinkin about it. Go ahead ‘n’ be scared, nothin wrong with that, just DO IT._

Both his mind and stomach became still. He closed the closet door, picked up the phone, and the edge of the cliff was suddenly behind him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Jack’s world**

At least Jack was past those doubts that it was worth it.

The end of his physical life had come so unexpectedly and in such confusion. The truck had pulled up only a few moments after he realized that the flat tire hadn’t been accidental. He’d fought like hell, hit one of them in the mouth hard and kicked another in the crotch, he knew; but mercifully one of the heavy pipes his assailants had used had broken his neck early on. Right afterward he’d tried to look back at the scene, wondering if any of his attackers were men he knew; but it was like he was looking through dark-tinted glass.

“You don’t need to look at that right now,” said a familiar voice behind him.

Jack recognized the speaker as an old friend in just a few moments, though he was still retrieving his memories only little by little. They were suddenly in a roadside park, sitting at a picnic table and looking across at each other, and Jack was the first to speak, the first thought that came into his head: “shit. That didn’t go the way we expected did it?”

“That it didn’t. We shouldn’t 've split up, that was our first mistake.” The other man looked into his eyes searchingly. “You’re stayin to wait for him, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have let him drive away that last time. Hell, I shouldn’t have let him drive _me_ away all those times.” Jack somehow wasn’t surprised that his friend had put his intent into words at the very moment it became clear to him. 

His friend sighed. “I’d a done the same myself but the way I went, didn’t have that choice. You didn’t really do so bad, I screwed up big time. Havin ta go through all kinds a review and not done yet.”

“Review?”

His friend ignored the implied question. ‘It’s not so unusual, what you wanna do, you’ll find that out. But there’s a few things you have to see first, you can’t really decide before you know what it is you’re waitin for. That’s just how it works.”

Jack didn’t know exactly when his friend left his side, just that he was alone in this strange border country afterward. He did remember the parting words, said sadly but with a kind of pleading hopefulness: “I’m glad you’re stayin Jack, but please -- look after both of ‘em.” 

He quickly learned that he could view whatever he liked back in the physical world, but at first he seemed to be looking at people through some kind of remote viewing screen. It was awhile before he learned to be any kind of presence. Some of it, Lureen’s face when she answered the phone and heard her mother’s voice, Bobby when he came home from school in the last few moments when his father was still alive in his consciousness – it was rough going not looking away, but he’d already learned that he could not. And then he shifted his attention to look for Ennis.

It was a street that he’d only seen a few times but recognized as being in Riverton. Looking over Ennis’ shoulder at the postcard with the cruel red stamp over the address: “DECEASED”, he heard his lover’s anguished whisper: “ _bud_ …..” He could see both Ennis’ and Lureen’s faces, hear the outline of their thoughts, as Ennis stood in the phone booth and then the scene suddenly shifted to Lightning Flat. Ennis sitting at the kitchen table, gazing at The Old Bastard with uncharacteristic directness and listening to the idly cutting words: “and then this spring, some other fella gonna come up here with him….”

Damn. _Damn_. Why had he kept chattering to The Old Bastard all those years, as if a miracle would happen and he’d actually be listened to? He watched Ennis’ face flush, the eyes narrow and then fill with tears, but count on Mama to rescue the situation. He found himself in the narrow makeshift closet, Ennis sitting at the window and gazing out briefly. _Ennis. Over here_.

Ennis didn’t hear him but turned his head, the first sign Jack had seen of anyone being even unconsciously aware he was nearby. It seemed to take forever for Ennis to look through the meager possessions still in the closet, including the old shoes, with Jack standing behind him repeating patiently, _no, don’t bother with that, look up_. But he finally did, pulled the two shirts out of the place where they’d been hidden like a seed inside the layers of an onion – in a recess within a closet within a room within a house – and he embraced the two shirts as if Jack was inside one of them, and he knew. Oh yes, he knew.

 

There were boundaries to Jack’s world, not defined by rule or threat of penalty but rather by the kind of laws that, in physical life, made it impossible to fly or grow extra arms or legs. He was aware of people, elsewhere though nearby, who’d also died in some shocking or unspeakable way but unlike him they weren’t there by choice. First year he’d been in rodeo, there had been a young bronc rider who wore a strange-looking medallion around his neck and who was the first Catholic Jack had met. Denny had always been sure to go to confession when he could find a priest, especially before a ride or before Saturday night.

“You think you’d go ta hell if you don’t keep confessin’?” Jack had asked him.

“No, Purgatory maybe. That's supposed ta be kinda like hell cept it don’t last forever.” Theology hadn’t been what interested either of them about each other, so Jack never heard any more about it but he figured that was something close to where these others were. He felt a great sadness for them, that wasted suffering but Ennis occupied his thoughts most of the time.

The other people where he was didn’t talk much. They all had a serious purpose for being there. Here was no need to fill tiny spaces in time, to search for something to engage your attention, since everyone could manipulate time even more easily than they’d usually maneuvered through space in physical life. 

At first he’d revisited that summer on Brokeback, the best of their trips together, even some of his better bull-riding forays, although as with the present world he could be only a spectator. And he revisited their favorite earlier time again and again – that long ride together across the steppes, just the two of them and their shaggy, big-boned horses and the gods of wind and plains and sky. A few of those times, he could have sworn he saw Ennis looking over at him.

Ennis was stubborn for awhile, as he’d always been: even those first thought pictures of everyday life with another man, he fought that hard enough to remind Jack of a couple of the broncs he’d seen Denny get thrown from. But Jack had been able to contact him in dreams, even touch him to some extent, ever since he’d made that vow in front of the two shirts he’d hung just inside the closet door – not hidden in the back, as they would have been even a few months before. Jack had watched and waited, was still doing that, as he never knew when an opportunity would appear. It was a measure of the solemnity of that moment in the church that he didn’t laugh out loud at Ennis looking around behind him, but seeing the realization in his face a moment later, that was the closest Jack came to tears since that last drive back down to Childress. And he’d waited up on Brokeback, the messenger crow occasionally perching on his shoulder and tilting its head as it gazed at him with an ironic eye.

He now found himself sitting on a very real and earthly beach, his back against a log. He’d been here before, it had sure changed since then though the fog and the sound of the birds was the same. This time, one of the few people he talked with, looking like an old man at the moment, had recognized Jack before Jack’s recollection of him had become clear. The tilt of the old man’s eyes and the wrinkles formed around them reprised the smile he gave Jack as he sat down beside him.

“You are one persistent feller, that’s for sure. The rest of us try not to be jealous of you.”

“Jealous? What for?”

“Well, all of us are watching and waiting for somebody, you know. Can you imagine dawdlin’ around here just for the hell of it? But most of us, the most we get is a talk here and there in a dream, mosta the time the person doesn’t even remember it, get to tell ‘em to go this way, don’t do that and they don’t even know why. Oh, we get to help all right, I don’t regret waitin’. But you an’ your man, you go back so far you’ve got ta do a lot more than that.”

Jack smiled, remembering their wedding night.

“But you know,” his mentor warned, “you’re gonna hafta cut back soon.” He nodded in response to Jack’s anxious, questioning look. “Think about it, the reason you stayed ta begin with. You told me about what you two wanted to get done to begin with, even if you’d done better there’s just so much you coulda done. And if you two are gonna pull it off now, he can’t just be doin what you tell him. Don’t worry about that, Jack,” he added. “Think where he was when he saw that postcard and where he is now. You just gotta keep watchin.”

Jack nodded and lit another cigarette, looking out again at the familiar scene. When he glanced back, the old man had vanished but he wasn’t startled. He was used to his temporary world by now.

He was a bit nervous, but not worried. It hadn’t taken him long to get all his optimism back. That was, after all, what Ennis had always loved about him the most.


	17. Chapter 17

**Duluth, Minnesota, May 1985**

_It wasn’t like moving had been all that tiring, Ennis thought during one of his waking moments. He’d even had plenty of time to do it. David had advised him to wait until the first of May; "movin to Duluth in winter, that’s not something you wanta do if you can avoid it." It was just as well. Riverton had suddenly seemed like an empty, haunted town, but still, he felt as if he was tearing off part of himself and leaving it behind._

"So what do you think?" David asked Maggie as she returned to his kitchen. 

"He’s sure groggy, but I don’t think anything serious." Maggie pulled her favorite mug out of the cupboard, chose a tea bag from the canister and poured in hot water from the Thermos carafe on the table. "Looks like he’s just worn out. And so are you, for that matter." 

But she too had been alarmed by Ennis’ condition when David’s car returned the night before. Both of them had watched anxiously for fever, coughing, bouts of nausea, sweat-soaked sheets, the sinister deep-violet spots of Kaposi's Sarcoma; but Ennis had just seemed unable to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. "He did only mention one guy," David had told her, "and he _has_ been livin and workin out in the middle of nowhere, but…." 

_But it was only saying goodbye to Sincie and Ace that was truly painful, Sincie especially since she was the one Jack used to ride. Hank at the Rafter B ranch was satisfied enough with the agreement to let the horses stay in exchange for the use of Ennis’ truck. "They can stay ‘s long as you want, Ennis," he’d said, "an’ we can always use an extra pickup. Can’t quite see you workin in a store, though."_

_Ennis took Sincie for one last ride, cantering far enough out to watch the thunderheads piling up on the horizon. He noticed a copse of trees nearby along a creek, somewhat like the one where he’d stopped with David. That had been the first truly happy day he’d spent since Jack had died – relaxing by the creek and passing the flask back and forth, and then a little later, when they were standing close to each other, too close, and had exchanged that look for a moment…_

_He put off leaving; inspecting both horses’ hooves, giving them one last brush. He leaned against Sincie for several long moments, face pressed to her neck, memories of rides with Jack through aspens and lodgepole pines, across a stream, uphill to look at a view, flickering through his mind._

David didn’t need to finish his thought. He and Maggie had both seen enough friends lost to that mysterious infection in the past few years. Seeing David’s anxiety as they got the half-conscious man upstairs and to bed, she’d spent the first night on David’s living room sofa, knowing that David would get no sleep at all otherwise. But Ennis had awakened briefly from time to time, had even apologized and seemed as puzzled over his long sleep as they were. 

"… _but_ ," she finished for him, "ya couldn’t help thinkin about it, and I couldn’t either. And _but_ , you’re two people short at the store, your friend doesn’t seem to need anything ‘cept a few nights sleep, and I’ll be downstairs to check on him." 

_Calling both Junior and Jenny, he told them only that Curt’s cousin David had offered him a job. "Minnesota?" Junior had asked with a pinch of incredulity in her voice: she knew he’d never been further out of Wyoming than Denver. "Well, that sounds exciting, Daddy. If it doesn’t work out, remember you’re always welcome to come here." "Thanks, darlin’, " was all he answered, but he suddenly wondered where he would go if it ‘didn’t work out.’_

_After closing the bank account and discovering that over three thousand in savings had accumulated since the child support payments had stopped, he didn’t worry about paying the Riverton travel agent for a round-trip plane ticket. After all, wherever he’d decide to go if he didn’t stay in Duluth, he’d want to pick up his horses and his truck first. But he gave notice he was moving out of the trailer at the end of April. The very thought of returning to Riverton, unlocking that door and then shutting it behind him brought up a sensation of being buried alive_. 

"Still, I don’t feel quite right – goin off to work tomorrow if he isn’t up and around." David took a swallow from his half-forgotten wineglass. He’d been drinking a lot of coffee that past few days, and tonight she’d taken the bottle of Cabernet out of the refrigerator and wordlessly poured a glass for him. 

"Yeah, I know how you’d like to hover – specially now that you’ve got your prize home." She smiled at his exasperated look, knowing she’d successfully diverted him. "You’re always tryin to do the right thing, Doctor D, and it looks like the right thing here’s just let whatever this is run its course. Take him to the emergency room if it goes on another day." He drummed his fingers lightly on the table, a gesture she knew from years of repetition meant that he was thinking over her advice and close to taking it. Now’s a good time to ask, she thought. 

_Since his near-fight with Ken, he’d avoided the Black and Blue Eagle Bar; but Vickie was one of the few people he’d even think to miss. So he dropped in just before closing time on Tuesday with only a few people there, and was rewarded with an offer to drive him to the airport. "Flying’s enough hassle, specially your first time, without gettin from the bus station to the airport," she’d said firmly. But there was one more goodbye he hadn’t sought nor thought of._

"Did Ennis ever tell you his man’s name? Or what he looked like, maybe?" 

David shook his head. ‘Had to be careful about that. Talkin long distance like we were, if he got skittish an hung up on me there wouldn’t be much I could do about it. ‘Bout all I know, Ennis had one of his shirts hung up on his closet door and he didn’t even mention that. I’d bet my assets they knew each other a long time…. why’d you ask?" 

"Just wondered." He knew better than that, heard the telltale rising inflection in her voice; and he watched her curiously as she sipped her hot tea, but didn’t explore further. They’d been friends for over 15 years, and both knew that a friendship’s longevity depended as much on knowing when not to speak as it did on shared confidences. 

Interesting, she thought, that same man was back. She’d first seen him earlier that day, sitting on the bed and leaning over Ennis, who seemed only half-asleep, and she’d noticed his startled expression when he’d realized she was looking at him. Just now, he’d been leaning against the chest of drawers and looking at her a little defiantly: long legs extended, his right arm resting on the top of the chest and left thumb hooked in a belt loop of his well-fitting jeans. He looked at her challengingly, but didn't speak – _if that’s the one, this guy sure has taste_. Maggie’d had what her great-grandmother had called "the Sight" as long as she could remember, and she’d taken the warning of her family history to heart. David was among the very few people who knew how often she saw things that others could not.

"I think your man’s in good hands, David," she said finally. "Now you need ta get some sleep yourself." 

_He’d lived on takeout and frozen dinners for that last week, no use buying much else in the way of groceries. Two nights before leaving, he’d met Alma getting out of her car just as he headed toward his truck in the supermarket parking lot. She spoke to hi with the now-familiar studied politeness. "Junior called and said you’re moving, Minnesota. Pretty big change for you, ain’t it?"_

_"Needed a job," he answered tersely; but he suddenly wondered what his life with Alma would have been like if he’d never met Jack. Uneventful, with only a few dips and rises: sticking with that road construction job long enough to get raises and paid vacations, taking the girls to Yellowstone one summer; accumulating snapshots of them growing older, growing away. Not a bad life, but always with a nebulous craving, as if he were missing some essential nutrient; and he wondered if he would have encountered someone at the bar, on a job, one of those trips to Cheyenne transporting stock, who’d have turned his head with just a look and a smile in a way Alma could never have done._

_"I know. Junior told me – Curt’s cousin offered you one, I remember meeting him at the wedding." The flatness in her voice told him that she’d understood more about that news than Junior had, but he managed to return her look steadily. "So, that Jack Twist – you… won’t be goin fishing with him anymore?"_

_He felt a heartbeat pound, once and very hard, inside his head and he felt a slight tinge of nausea – not like before in Alma’s kitchen when he’d felt a trap closing but rather a slight vertigo at hearing her speak Jack’s name. "I haven’t…." he started, then forced it out. "Jack… died, two years ago."_

_"Oh -- I’m sorry Ennis, I didn’t know." They looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment, with little else to say. Unexpectedly she put a hand on his shoulder, leaned her head up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Goodbye Ennis," she said, voice a little unsteady, turned and walked into the store without looking back._

_He wondered if he’d ever see her again. He almost, though not quite, wished he could have loved her. ___

__Ennis woke from time to time for brief periods, and often to see David sitting beside the bed. "’M sorry," he said drowsily once. "Just can’t wake up." "Don’t worry about that," David said, his voice sounding disconcertingly close without the buffer of hundreds of miles of telephone wires. " I guess you need it."_ _

__He wondered what odd kind of sleeping sickness he could have caught on the plane ride. No telling, people were so crammed into that huge tin can with wings that he’d felt as if every single person on board were breathing directly into his face. Not given to self-analysis until so recently, Ennis might have suspected otherwise that it was no virus or any other microscopic assailant. Two years of stress, grief, overwork, too much alcohol, too little and too often troubled sleep and the shifting of the whole foundation of his life had all taken their toll on his body. Sensing that it had come at last to a safe if unfamiliar refuge, that body had simply induced him to take a thorough rest via brute force._ _

___Though he’d never flown before, Ennis had heard enough people talk about lost luggage to add a small zippered tote bag to the well-used suitcase he bought at the thrift store and carry it with him on the plane. He laid Jack’s quilt on the bed, carefully spread the two shirts on it and then rolled up the quilt, feeling inside the roll to make sure the postcard and photo weren’t being bent. The only thing that went into the tote bag other than the quilt and its relics was the decorated coffee can._ _ _

___The drowsiness had hit him just after the plane had landed. It had crowded out every other thought or intention, as thoroughly as extreme thirst would have, and he hadn’t even been able to stay awake as David drove them both home, reviving only briefly when they stopped at intersections. He dimly remembered David helping him up an outdoor stairway, then pushing him down to sit on a bed and pulling his boots off, then his belt. His body kept sagging this way and that, pulling up into consciousness with a jerk as gravity started to take over. But he forced his eyes to focus as David unsnapped his shirt and began to pull it backward off his arms. "Told me I’d have my own room," he mumbled protestingly._ _ _

____"I’ll sleep in your room for tonight, this is a better bed." Ennis sank back onto a puffier pillow than he was used to, and was asleep before David finished pulling the blankets over him._ _ _ _


	18. Chapter 18

Ennis wasn’t sure if it was day or night, although after a moment he remembered where he was, when he opened his eyes and saw Jack sitting on the side of the bed. The memory of his wedding night flashed through his brain in an instant; but his surroundings, unfamiliar as they were, were in sharp focus and he could still hear the wind, plus a few other less familiar sounds, outside. 

"I can’t get up, Jack," he groaned. 

"You don’t hafta get up right now. You’ve had a long trip, lasted years, an’ it’s taken everything outa you so just rest up. Godalmighty, cowboy, you’re harder on yourself than anybody I ever knew." 

Jack cupped his right hand on the side of Ennis’ face, a tender gesture long familiar. Like always in the past year, except during their wedding night, he felt a sensation a little like compressed air out of a hand-shaped mold. "This is new," he murmured. "Am I awake?" He hadn’t been able to see Jack when awake, only hear him whisper and feel light touches; Jack must have a reason for making what Ennis sensed was a great effort. 

Jack smiled. "About half. One a your friends came in here just now, gave me quite a turn – she looked right at me." 

" _Who_ came in an saw you?" Ennis forced his eyes to focus. 

"You’ll find out soon enough, don’t worry about it. But you shouldn’t be surprised ta see me here, I don’t live in Texas no more, ya know. Ennis. . . . . Do you love me?" 

"I love you, Jack." After all the years of struggle, and a great effort even on their wedding night, it slid out of him now as easily as a single exhaled breath. 

"An I loved you the minute I saw you in that parking lot, waiting for Aguirre to show up. But I didn’t know for awhile, took me a little time to remember. . . Ennis, from here out it’s gonna seem ta you like I’m not around anymore. We won’t be seein each other when you’re asleep like we’ve been." 

That shocked Ennis fully awake for a moment. He was suddenly back in the church in Riverton, Junior’s and Curt’s voices far in the background as he held Jack’s invisible hand and heard ‘ _I, Jack, take you, Ennis_ …’ "You’re leavin me, Jack?" 

"No bud, remember what I told ya – you and me’s forever. An I didn’t stick around just ta visit with ya for a year. I stayed because we both screwed up and I wanted ta help you go ahead an do what we’d planned. An now you’ve gotta start on doing that – build yourself a life where you’re happy, where you c’n be yourself, live with somebody you can love and take care of. An’ there’s no way you can do that with me directin’ you." 

Though he knew what Jack meant, everything in him rose up in revolt at losing their year-long connection, the regular reminders that Jack was not gone forever. "Jack -- I never wanted nobody but you." 

Jack leaned back a little and tilted his head, looking down at him quizzically. "You loved me for 20 years, so now you don’t wanna love no more? Doesn’t sound like I was very good for ya." 

Ennis thought about the endless winters when it seemed that the only warmth and light in his world came from anticipating their next meeting, then his constant anxiety the rest of the year that Jack would show up unexpectedly the way he had right after the divorce. "You were the only thing good for me," he said finally. "Don’t know how good I was for you. ‘Cept when we was together, it just hurt." 

"We could’ve – we _should’ve_ done a lotta things different but the pain woulda come at us some other way," Jack answered. "Ya just can’t keep that away without turning yourself into one a’ them mummies you hear about. It’s a mystery, and bein’ dead don’t mean I’ve figured all that out. Ennis, do you love me?" 

"Yes Jack, I love ya." 

"And all those years we were hangin on by our fingernails with those meetings once, twice a year – did ya love me only when we saw each other? Or all year?" 

This seemed more than a little like a silly question, but Ennis answered "all year, a course." 

Jack nodded. "So did I. An that long drive I always took, over a thousand miles one way year in an year out, there was some awful boring stretches every time but I was thinkin of you while I drove em. I ain’t surprised you’re tired – you got torn up by the roots and had some hard chores ta get through before. I watched all of it. . . .Ennis, do you love me?" 

Ennis was awake enough now to feel a little annoyed. "Jack, why do you keep asking me that? You know I love you." 

Jack’s right hand traced lightly across his forehead. "I do know. We didn’t go through with what we planned ta do, but we kept an remembered that much. We kept it alive for each other for 20 years, even though all we had was just those bits ‘n pieces of time together, even with all the loneliness an’ after it turned bitter." He took Ennis’ right hand between both of his. "You remember how we got back together? Those four years after Brokeback?" 

"You sent that postcard." Ennis was slipping back into sleep, and into the now-familiar bluish void where Jack usually met him. 

"But you returned a card saying ‘you bet.’ And when I showed up, you ran out of that apartment, down the stairs ta meet me. An’ now you’ve come all the way here, and you’ll hafta keep movin and reachin, it ain’t gonna just be handed to ya. But don’t go thinkin I’ve gone anywhere. If you don’t hear from me that don’t mean I ain’t around, and I’ll be there when you really need me." 

Ennis looked up into the blue eyes, more intense and luminous, though also more translucent, than they had been in life and for the first time he saw a few tears in them. His hands reached up and tried to embrace Jack but what he touched was not dense enough for an embrace. "You ain’t tellin me ta forget about you then, Jack?" 

Jack laughed then, leaned over and kissed him one more time. "No way that’s gonna happen, cowboy. If you could’ve, you woulda done that 20 years ago."


	19. Chapter 19

When Ennis woke up at daybreak, the first thing he noticed about the room was that Jack was no longer there. The second was that although the bed was the most comfortable one he could remember sleeping in, the overpowering need to sleep had left him as abruptly as it had arrived. He lay for a moment, mentally stroking and examining the sound of Jack's voice and his last fugitive touches, knowing it would be a long time before he could do so again. 

He sat up slowly, muscles stiff from a day and two nights of disuse; but he didn’t feel the lethargy and grogginess that would be expected after sleeping too long. In fact, he was more alert and clear-headed than he’d been in a long time, scrutinizing the room as he dressed in the dim light. It would have been long and narrow except for the archway, flanked by waist-high bookshelves, that divided it in half. On the other side were small file cabinets and more shelves, some holding books and others towels and linens. The sleeping area had only one window, behind the bed and blocked by heavy curtains. The wall was not painted nor papered but covered in light-colored fabric patterned in sketches of leaves and ferns; an oddity that wasn’t extended to the other three walls, painted a more conventional light green. The bathroom, he discovered, was off a recess between the two parts of the room. 

The doorway to the hall was in the library part of the room and Ennis stood outside it for several minutes, listening to the silence in the house and uncertain about what to do next. Restless and wanting to explore but not liking the thought of wandering around someone else’s house alone, he followed the hazy memory of two nights ago and headed for the door at the other end of the hallway. It opened to a narrow landing of the stairway, which doubled back down the side of the house; but Ennis stood at the railing for several minutes, too stunned by what he saw to move. 

He was looking at an environment almost as alien from Wyoming as a landscape on another planet. 

During their telephone conversations, David had mentioned that the house he shared with Maggie was "right on the lake," and he had given Ennis regular bulletins all last winter about storms and ice. Ennis had even stopped at the Riverton library a few times, trying to ignore the curious glances of the two librarians as he looked Duluth up in more than one atlas. But nothing could have prepared him for this vast, undulating plain of water, animate and full of ceaseless, restless movement, extending as far out as he could see until it dipped over the curve of the Earth and out of his sight. It was the closest thing to an ocean Ennis had ever seen and it terrified and mesmerized him at the same time, and he was not even aware of descending the wooden stairs, walking to the end of a small deck and down the steps to a beach. 

He had seen lakes in Wyoming all his life, but they all had clearly visible boundaries and were framed and defined by mountains, rocks, trees and hills. Superior dominated every natural or man-made feature within sight, and was defined by nothing but its own presence, with no boundaries that he could see other than the horizon and sky. This early in the day the eastern sky he was facing was a warm pinkish-yellow glow that deepened into dark rose, and the water, a deep bluish purple at the moment, was speckled with tiny ridges streaked with those same tints. The water even looked milky in the spots where it faded into tufts of fog. 

Ennis was momentarily in the grip of a tightly-wound exhilaration that was not sexual, but very close to it. He was in the presence of a gigantic force of nature, totally unlike what he’d felt in the Big Horn mountains but equally as powerful, an implacable brew of sensuality and ferocity, lushness and violence. Accustomed by years of ranch work to spotting weather signs, his eyes and skin immediately recognized the cool, moist wind and the slowly-evaporating fog as emanating from the inland sea in front of him: Superior was not subject to the climate around it but rather produced that climate out of itself. He squatted at the edge of the yellow-brown sand, dipped his fingers in the water still icy on this spring morning, and instinctively felt the otherworldly pull of tides. Lake Superior was not "pretty," as he had heard people describe other lakes. It was wild, and mysterious, and savagely, hypnotically beautiful. 

In Sage, before his ninth year, Ennis had loved watching the colors changing at sunset; not only the shifting vivid colors near the horizon but the sky’s change from blue to purple to black. He’d often tried, with varying success, to watch for the exact minute that the deepening shadows in his surroundings vanished altogether. It was a pleasure he’d known to pursue in secret; "no time f’r daydreamin around," was all his father had said that first time, but it was enough: young as he was, Ennis had joined his mother, brother and sister in being cautious around his father. But there were always chores to be done toward the end of the day and he made a game out of finding work to do behind the barn, around a certain shed with a western view. For a moment that boy seemed to be squatting beside him at the water’s edge, chuckling, and so was the shy, taciturn but vaguely hopeful young ranch hand who had fallen crazy in love with Jack Twist. 

He did not hear footsteps but caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and he stood up, turned around and watched as David stepped off the bottom of the steps and walked toward him across the sand. 

For the past year, both Jack and David had been the great unseen presences in Ennis' life, the two people with whom he did not have to be on guard all the time and by whom he was known and knowable; but they had also been the two people who were safely removed and isolated from everyday life and its hazards. And now, only hours after Jack had told him that he would be close by but unreachable here was David, no longer separated from him by hundreds of miles and just as dangerously attractive as he'd been those two afternoons they'd gone horseback riding. It seemed both years ago and the day before yesterday at the same time, and no small part of his standing still and watching David walk up to him was due to his truly having nowhere to go and a curious inability to even try to think of looking away. The compact body, only a little shorter than his, the dark hair and the arresting gray eyes were no less compelling than the Lake behind him. 

"Ennis? You okay?" David's voice sounded happy but slightly puzzled. "Yeah, don't know what happened," Ennis managed. "I finally woke up just now." "You musta," David answered. "I looked in on you just before I went out running, and you still out like a light." 

"Runnin?" 

"Well,,,," David tilted his head a little and lifted his hands in joking self-deprecation. "Sometimes it's more like trottin'. And sometimes it's just walkin', but I keep at it every morning, when the weather's good anyway." The two men looked at each other for another moment and then David turned and headed toward the steps. "Come on and have some hot coffee at least. I'd just started breakfast." Ennis followed, taking some notice of the large but comfortable-looking house with its white paint and wood siding, long balcony and peaked room on one side; but he found himself more intrigued by David's sturdy back and the outlines of the muscles under the gray trousers as he climbed the steps. 

The house was now full of the aromas of bacon and freshly-brewed coffee and Ennis, who rarely noticed what he ate, realized that he was voraciously hungry. The other end of the hall proved to open onto a narrow entryway with the house’s front windows on one side and tables and shelves filled with record albums, cassette tapes, a turntable, tape deck and speakers against the wall. The kitchen and living room beyond were much larger than the sleeping area and with more windows, although Ennis noticed the same heavy curtains: visual evidence of ruthless northern winters and long evening hours of sunlight in the summer. 

He sat at the table in a gleaming-white kitchen with woodwork and cabinet doors painted dark blue; the first blue and white kitchen he’d ever seen, and he wondered what Alma Junior would make of it. But mostly he watched David hurrying around the room, sliding half a dozen frozen dinner rolls into the oven, pouring coffee and bringing the plate of crisp bacon slices to the table. He took a carton of fruit yogurt out of the refrigerator and made a quick survey of the rest. "What’re ya hungry for, Ennis? There’s plenty of eggs and I’ve got cereal if you’d rather have that—" 

"Yogurt ‘d be okay for me too," Ennis answered. "Blueberry if you got it." At David’s surprised look his mouth widened slightly and his eyes narrowed, a look that David quickly learned to recognize as one of amusement. "Didn’t think I’d ate yogurt before, huh?" 

"Well, I didn’t expect it, gotta admit." David set the two cartons of yogurt on the table, then opened the oven and flipped the rolls into a shallow bowl. Immediately the grainy-yeasty scent mingled with those of the bacon and coffee. "Woulda thought you were – you know, a meat-and-potatoes kinda guy." 

There was silence between them as they ate that would have made Ennis nervous if he hadn't been so suddenly hungry. He especially savored the coffee, which had a dusky rich taste unlike anything he or Alma had ever brewed. David sat across from him, seemingly absorbed in buttering a roll. "You sure you're feeling all right, Ennis?" 

"Course I'm sure. Didn't really feel sick to begin with, just sleepy. An now that's gone." 

"Well...." David seemed nervous and uncertain. "I got a kind of problem here, Ennis," he said, talking a little more quickly than he usually did. "One of my workers is on vacation, and I got a call yesterday that another one has a kid sick with the flu. So I'm two people short and I kinda need to go ta work today, since I'm part owner the buck stops at me." 

Ennis shrugged slightly. "Why's that a problem? I'm supposed ta start workin there today, ain't I?" 

"You were, but I was expectin you to be here all weekend, get used to the place and I don't like to have you start your first day of work when we don't even know what was wrong with you. Besides, if things are crazy there today - well, it won't be a good way to start out." 

"Well, go ahead then." Ennis still wasn't sure what the problem was, but an odd memory suddenly flickered by of a Alma frantically cleaning their apartment one Easter when she'd invited her sister and brother-in-law to dinner."I'll be okay here. I hadn't even unpacked yet." 

"You sure?" Ennis wondered why David was talking so quickly, as if he was afraid he was going to forget what he intended to say at any moment. "Cause if it isn't, ya know I can stay here - I mean, it isn't like the business is gonna go under if things don't work right for a day--" 

"I said I'd be okay." He was getting a little irritated. "Go ahead ta work if you need to." 

David sat back in his chair, looking a little deflated, and there was a heavy silence for a few moments. "I'm tryin too hard, aren't I?" he finally said ruefully. 

"Well,... no, you're -- uh.... yeah." David started to laugh and Ennis added, "maybe I'm not tryin hard enough." This time both men laughed, and the slight stiffness between them vanished. 

David drained the rest of his coffee, spread his hands and thumped them on the table. "Okay, I'll give you some space an not 'hover', like Maggie says. Make yourself at home, unpack, take a walk if ya want. Maggie'll probably be up here before I get home, she was gonna sleep late today but she said she'd look in on you." He opened a narrow door near the far wall of the kitchen, revealing a staircase. "Your room is up those stairs, and Maggie's part of the house is down. I generally use the outside staircase, at least this time a year, she was born and raised in Minnesota so she understands if I need ta use the indoor one during the winter. I'll bring some pizza home tonight, and then drive you around some." 

Ennis watched out the front window as David's car disappeared down a street that would have looked quite ordinary except for the rocky shoreline and the water on the other side -- calmer-looking than what he'd just seen outside, he noticed. He walked back into the living room with its bank of curtained windows and doorway leading out to the balcony he'd seen from the beach. The living room, like the others he'd seen so far, was not sparsely furnished but had an aura of quiet, uncluttered spaciousness. For the first time he could remember, he was in an indoor space that seemed to be more than a shelter from the elements, and where he did not feel like he was caught in a space too narrow for him to lie down and stretch out at full length. 

"Did I handle that okay, Jack?" He knew that he would get no answer, but strongly suspected that Jack could hear him.


	20. Chapter 20

The attic room was short and narrow, its sparse furnishings hinting that it hadn’t been lived in for awhile. David had left the promised sofa bed folded out, with rumpled sheets and blanket, and that plus a small bedside table with a lamp and a chest of drawers nearby were the only furniture. Though the closet space was generous enough and Ennis was surprised to find an adjoining bathroom with a shower stall, the room was directly under the roof, so the ceiling sloped down far enough that only a child could stand fully upright at the far ends. But the window faced east, toward a dazzling view of the Lake, with morning sunlight blazing through it at the moment, and the bare walls were painted a clear lemonade-yellow. The overall effect was rather like an austere but cheerful monk’s cell in a tower.

Ennis pulled the sheets and blanket up into place, not bothering to fold the bed back into a sofa, and unpacked what was now everything he owned. No problem finding room enough in the chest of drawers and closet for the sparse contents of his suitcase: a few changes of well-worn clothes, an extra jacket, an envelope with photographs, mostly of Alma Junior and Jenny; a folded paper sack containing a miscellany of small items he could not bring himself to leave behind. A toothbrush, soap, razor and the aspirin he sometimes needed now were the only items added to the bathroom. Having something practical to do relieved his current uneasy feeling of being in the middle of a hectic stream on a small boat with no paddle, being spun around randomly with only glimpses of the shoreline going by. 

But the tote bag contained the items that would define the place he lived, wherever he went. He unrolled Jack’s quilt on the bed, the two shirts unfurling little by little, somewhat wrinkled. Seeing them, Ennis felt a brief moment of relief from his vague anxiety; and suddenly he was sitting on the narrow bed, just as he had after that first trip to Lightning Flat, his arms gathering the shirts and wrapping around his body wordlessly. Despite the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window, he shivered a little, and pulled Jack’s quilt up around his shoulders. 

He hadn’t been unaware of the world that existed outside Wyoming. He’d spun out many winter evenings and Sundays watching the same television images that everyone else saw; attended a movie or looked at pictures in magazines on rarer occasions; and when people talked about far-off states and countries he’d usually been casually listening whether he’d said anything or not. But in the back of his mind it had all been unmoving, unpopulated, far removed from him and vanishing from his view at a moment’s notice. Now that seemed to have turned inside-out. He imagined the highway toward Signal that he’d driven so many times, the flat windswept road that led into Riverton, the main street and post office, library, church, the familiar route to Monroe’s house that he’d driven to pick up Junior or Jenny on so many weekends -- the world where he been physically present only a few days before. But it was those scenes that were now like very old photographs with images still clear but the people in them aged or gone and the settings changed beyond recognition. While he was a little ashamed at the irrational panic he felt, it was there all the same.

But the shirts still seemed alive in his arms, and he imagined he could feel even their threads, crossing over and under each other to form the fabric; the little hard cloth-covered nubs of the snaps, even the flecks of lint and dust on them here and there. It was only a few hours ago that he’d last seen Jack, and Ennis knew that Jack had meant what he said. In the last year he’d grown adept at catching those almost-inaudible whispers and touches that had begun a year ago but so far away, hardly more than a breeze brushing against his skin; but there would be no more of that, at the very point that his exile was beginning in earnest. Ennis had no doubt that Jack would keep his promise to remain nearby and the thought made him quickly glance over his shoulder. _Jack, Jack, you were wrong, I can’t do this_ but the panic attack was subsiding. He released the shirts to spread over his lap, checked the photo in Jack’s shirt pocket and reflected that when or if Jack contacted him again, Jack was no further away here than he’d been in Wyoming.

Now the shirts had to have a new home. The door to the closet, currently holding only the wedding suit he hadn’t thought to get rid of, had sturdy coat hooks on both the inside and outside; and he hung the two shirts on the outside hook experimentally, somehow not liking their being shut in darkness in the midst of this light-filled room. But a feeling of vague but grating dissatisfaction stirred, an offense at something unsuitably casual, like sacred objects displayed in a store window; and he shifted them to the familiar territory behind the door, the postcard secured with one of a few stray thumbtacks left in the wood.

An extra hat had taken up much of the suitcase; and after inspecting the room for a moment he hung it on a nail left in the wall near the door, then looked at it with satisfaction for a few moments. After he smoothed out Jack’s quilt to cover the rest of the bed, the room was no longer a strange or anonymous place to him. It, and by extension the house, were now the place of safety in his life.

David had left damp towels slung over the shower rod in the bathroom and Ennis headed back downstairs to the office next to David’s bedroom, remembering the clothes hamper and tiny linen closet in the dimly-lit recess. Scooping up a few towels and closing the linen closet door, he glanced to his left and spotted two small, framed paintings on the short, dimly-lit wall. They were smaller than the pictures and photos he’d half-noticed that morning, most obviously chosen for interesting scenery or for decorative value; and he stood gazing at these half-hidden canvases for several minutes. 

One was a watercolor picture, somewhat crudely done but his color-sensitive eyes were drawn to it first. It showed a bird taking flight: a large one with the smooth domed head, massive hooked beak and stern expression of an eagle or a kite, not ramping up at an angle from the ground as birds usually do but flying straight up, muscular wings half-extended and the head slightly inclined, somehow suggesting an enormous effort and determination. Ennis could almost feel the bird’s muscles straining frantically against gravity, but it was the background that made the image mysterious and disturbing. The bird was flying up in the exact middle of a geyser of fire. 

Orange-red toward the top of the canvas, amber and flaxen at the base, it rose in a pent-up torrent, droplets and sheets spattering and showering down; with an infernal vapor swirling around the bird and half-obscuring it in a few places. If the background Ennis was looking at was the sky, it was no sky he had ever seen: two crescent moons faced each other from the opposite top corners.

The other framed piece, less startling but no less baffling, looked more restrained to Ennis, who didn’t have the inner vocabulary to identify it as a more mature style with more subtle coloring. It looked at first like a corner of a park or someone’s carefully landscaped back yard: a small but generously spreading tree, covered with a veil of white blossoms, growing next to a retaining wall. The earth-red colors of the brick threw the flowers, a few drawn with four large, identical petals, into sharp relief; and the snowy treetop formed a sloping canopy just above the top of the wall. Only a tall stone obelisk in the background, and a stone slab closer to the foreground, told Ennis that this was no park or secluded corner of a formal garden. It was a drawing of a cemetery.

But the overall effect was neither funereal nor foreboding. This drawing, too, had a moon in one corner and its light illuminated a patch of brick in the wall here, a tiny clump of white blossoms there. The tree, wall and obelisk cast long dark shadows that contrasted with the light slanting through the white treetop, giving the viewer a glimpse of a delicate latticework of spindly branches supporting it. Looking at it, Ennis could almost feel the coarse nubbiness of the brick, the smells of earth and rock and burgeoning vegetation, and a warm, sensual night breeze.

Both pictures seemed to glow with an ambient light that reached a few inches outside the frames; and Ennis felt a prickling in his scalp and an edgy chill; not unlike the sensation in the far-off Riverton church when he’d heard Jack’s unseen hand in his. He knew he was looking at something significant in his new home, an enigmatic glimpse behind the doors that David had left half-closed during their telephone conversations. He thought of the two shirts and postcard upstairs, hanging in darkness at the moment but in a pinpoint of light in his imagining; and knew that what he was looking at matched in both substance and significance. He didn’t know how long he’d stood in the dim recess, staring at the two images that David had obviously intended to be not quite hidden but out of public view, and the knock on the kitchen’s staircase door startled him.


	21. Chapter 21

The knock was a quick, perfunctory one. The door was already being pushed ajar as Ennis pulled it open and the woman on the other side stumbled after it into the kitchen. They were both surprised for a moment, and then the woman smiled. "Thought I heard somebody walkin around up here - I told David I'd check up on you. "Well then, ma'am," he answered, "I guess you're Maggie."

"Maggie Sorbel, that's right. David's old school buddy, real estate partner in the Beach House" - she made a sweeping, humorously exaggerated gesture indicating the room - "and the best waitress at Grandma's Saloon, if I do say so.... And I know you're Ennis. It's good to see you wide-awake finally, you’ve been a very quiet house guest so far."

She had long reddish-brown hair that rippled and crinkled rather than curled and a broad, artless smile, but those were the on!y things that were beautiful about her. Everything else, from her oval face to her narrow feet, was too long and slender, and her grayish-green eyes were too small and deepset for beauty. But they were alert and full of humor, and Ennis knew they were inspecting him and missing little.

He’d been curious about this woman, whom David had mentioned often and warmly enough to make him wonder if those few electric moments during their horseback outings were somehow his imagination. But David had spoken of her the same way that the men Ennis worked with spoke of childhood buddies or brothers they were especially close to. Between phone calls, Ennis had tried to imagine having a woman as a buddy but had failed entirely. 

He knew that David and Maggie had been friends since David’s college days and were now technically real estate partners since they both owned a share of the house. "Maggie got a lot of insurance money when her husband was killed - the other driver had a bad driving record and a family that wanted to make it all go away," David had told him. "She just stuck it in the bank – typical of Maggie – and when she said she was tired of renting, I suggested we pool our resources and go look into foreclosed houses. Good thing too, knowing Maggie -- sooner or later she’d have spent it on a train trip to Nome or shares in a stainless-steel mine.”

“Maggie, right. David mentioned you.” After a moment he added, “sorry about – the last few days, didn’t expect that ta happen.”

“t’s okay.” The greenish eyes gave him a flickering up-and-down look. “We were just a little worried it might be something… you know, serious.” Before Ennis could wonder what she was saying, she started back out the door to the stairway. “Can’t stay, I got a teakettle just startin to boil, c’mon down and have some tea,” she threw over her shoulder; adding “you’ll wanna use this indoor stairway a lot during the winter” as they went down.

Maggie's part of the house, though larger than David's, had none of the spacious tidiness of the upstairs. The walls were covered with framed prints, posters, and things that Ennis had never seen hung on a wall. What looked like two well-aged tapestries with faded garlands of flowers against a beige background were old scatter rugs, cleaned and carefully hung facing each other, and clusters of antique jewelry hung from brackets on either side of an antique mirror. High up on one wall was a narrow shelf holding old ceramic pitchers, small bottles in glowing jewel colors, piles of artificial fruit and a painted ceramic head of a dusky-skinned woman with a flower in her hair. On another wall were groupings of small framed prints of richly colored flowers and of exotic birds with long sweeping tails. One set of wind chimes, near a window whose frame was bordered by a string of tiny Christmas lights, was formed of thin slabs of frosted glass; glass stars of various sizes and colors dangled from another on the deck outside. And every surface, other than the low-slung, puffy sofa and chairs, was covered and piled high with boxes, laundry baskets and piles of books and magazines. If David hadn't told him that he and Maggie had lived in the house for about four years, Ennis might have assumed she was still in the process of moving in. 

She unceremoniously shoved a pile of papers, unopened mail and magazines into one corner of the kitchen table, and poured the boiling water into a covered pot. Immediately, a strong fragrance of tea and peppermint filled the air. Ennis had been accustomed to drinking instant powdered ice tea in warm weather since Junior and Jennie were babies, but his only experience with hot tea was the occasional stir-fry dinners that Alma Junior had made. He’d never liked the faintly metallic undertaste that he detected in it; but the mint flavor in the cup Maggie gave him wasn’t offensive. He glanced at the wall clock and noted that it was already past ten o'clock. Unaccustomed to sudden changes, his mind briefly stopped on the short road of his first day in these strange surroundings and looked back in surprise at the landmarks and curves in the road it had already passed. 

Seated across from him, she took a steaming sip from her own cup, then leaned back and fixed him with a look suggesting a quick survey of a major, long-term project. "Been upstairs to see your room, I guess. Pretty small I know, but you'll have lots of privacy, great view, you prob’ly noticed that, _and_ you've got a fireplace. Very nice to have in the winter, 'specially with us being right on the lake like we are." "It's big enough. I don't have much," he answered, "an I just now moved in. But I don't know if I'll be here in the winter."

She ignored this last statement, but it was only his first discovery that everyone here had a determined assumption that he was in Duluth for good. "And you'd lived all your life in Wyoming till just this month....” There was a sincerely impressed shading in her voice. “Duluth must be pretty strange to you." She glanced toward the open curtains and the view of the Lake beyond the deck. "Have you been outside?" "Yeah," he answered, "it's - different."

She laughed a little, but he was still aware of being scrutinized. "So - you planning to stay long? Through the summer?" It seemed odd to him that David hadn't already told her, but "got a return ticket the end of August, but 'm not really sure." 

"Oh..." she put the cup down and looked at him with frank inquisitiveness. "So there's -someone, back in Wyoming?"

" ’Sright." He was unexpectedly enjoying himself a little. "A pickup truck and two horses." 

With one elbow on the table, she tilted her head to rest in one hand and looked at him with studied casualness. "Doctor D mentioned you'd been divorced awhile back - so there's no one back home you miss?"

Now the conversation had headed through unlit side streets where he couldn't be sure who was lurking in the doorways. "No'm," he answered, quite wary now. "Got two daughters, one of em married, the other 'n about grown, and they've both moved away." He had the odd impression that she'd been asking a silent question and that he'd just answered it. "Why do you keep calling David Doctor? Did he go to medical school or somethin’?"

“I know you two talked a lot on the phone, but he didn’t get around to the worst road trip we ever took, not that I blame him,” she laughed a little, and he let out a long breath. The conversation had moved back onto a well-traveled main street. “It was back in college days, one of those hit-the-road things students do. David, Nathan and I and the girl Nathan was seeing that week --- we were roommates, that’s how David and I met – we decided to take a weekend trip to Jacksonville to see a concert. Drove down on Friday, and after the show we parked in a K-Mart parking lot and got a little sleep, didn’t start back till mid-morning on Saturday. We stopped for lunch at this short-order place in some little town near Americus, no chain restaurants for _us_. And the food did taste good, and there was plenty of it, and we were all lucky that David was the only one who didn’t eat the potato salad. By the time we got to Macon, he was having to stop the car about every 15 minutes for somebody to throw up and he finally knocked on his parents’ door and told them we’d have to spend the night. 

“Poor David musta wished once or twice he _had_ eaten the potato salad. His mom was never the best person in a crisis, ‘you drove all the way to Jacksonville for a concert?’ that was all we heard from her, not that the rest of us cared just then. But David spent that whole night cleaning up after the rest of us, bringing us Cokes, they call it ‘Co-Cola’ down South. He even did a big pile of stinky laundry.

“It was one of those things you kind of laugh about later but wouldn’t ever wanta relive. But ‘Doctor D’ fits him another way, you’ll find out if you stay here long enough. He really needs to – well, take care of people, fix what ails them.”

David’s anxiety about leaving him alone for the day suddenly seemed to make more sense. “Last night ‘n’ yesterday, y’know, when I couldn’t wake up – he was in checkin up on me a lot, wasn’t he.”

“Something like every ten minutes, till I decided to spend the night an’ told him to get some sleep. He wouldn’ta gone to work today at all, except there were two people out. When you own a business, the buck pretty much stops at you.”

The curtains and door at the end of the room were open to let in the morning sun and air, and Ennis glanced at the deck, a little larger than the one upstairs. Close to the horizon of the Lake, a little further out now that the morning mists had dissolved, was something that looked like the flat bottom of a butter dish with a small box at one end. Following his puzzled look, Maggie put down her empty teacup. “A boat’s on the way in! You haven’t seen the bridge in action yet, have you?”

“Bridge?” He’d been standing on the beach long enough for David to have returned to the house and started breakfast, but had been so mesmerized by the Lake and the shock of his new surroundings that he hadn’t noticed anything else. But for the second time in less than an hour he got up hastily and followed her, this time out the back door to the smaller platform below the deck steps. As they sat in two weatherbeaten deck chairs, watching the shape on the horizon getting bigger, he now noticed the buildings of the city just across the narrow bay to the left, the larger ones jostling each other for space along the shoreline, and a thick sprinkling of rooftops on what looked like a steep, tree-covered bluff beyond them. The bridge, only a few blocks in the same direction, looked to him like a giant C-clamp made of a latticework of metal scaffolding. “The Aerial Bridge, also called the Lift Bridge -- you’ll get to know it real well,” she told him. “It’s the only way to Duluth from here – the only way to anywhere for that matter unless you’ve got a plane or a boat.”

Ennis considered that for a second. “So we’re on an island.”

“Yes, but it’s not a natural one. Park Point is on a sandspit, goes out 7 miles, and there’s another sandspit from the Wisconsin side that almost touches it but not quite. They dredged out an opening a long time ago so ships could go into the harbor, and they all have to go under that bridge.”

The ship was close enough now that it didn’t resemble a butter dish, but it also didn’t look anything like the pictures of ships Ennis had ever seen. Over a thousand feet long, longer than the height of a 90-story office building, most of it seemed to consist of a wide, tongue-shaped platform that looked large enough to hold a small neighborhood. As it got even closer, he could see more of the three-story, boxlike structure at the stern; its stairways and smokestacks topped with the long, windowed penthouse-like bridge. It looked to his eyes like an immense floating warehouse.

“Strange lookin ship,” he commented.

“That’s the _Belle River_ , it’s easy to spot -- you won’t see many that big. They carry coal mostly, sometimes iron ore.”

As the ship slid into the lane formed by two piers, he wondered how it would get under the Aerial Bridge, whose lower roadway looked far too close to the water for even a much smaller boat to pass under it. A second later, he jumped as the approaching ship called out with a trumpeting blast of its horn.

On their regular weekend visits since the divorce, Junior and Jenny had often brought homework with them and on one occasion he’d been intrigued by a drawing in one of Jenny’s schoolbooks: an animal that looked like a shaggy elephant with short hind legs and dramatically long, curling tusks. “That’s a mammoth,” she’d said. “Miz Jelkes says they found some mammoth bones right here in Wyoming near Worland. Our Sunday School teacher says they all disappeared during Noah’s flood.” Ennis hadn’t commented on that but he’d felt a distinct prickling sensation on his arms and the back of his neck as the hairs stood on end. The ship now seemed to him less like a warehouse than some lumbering primordial creature announcing its progress to anything that might be in its way. 

He was even more startled to hear an answering blast from the bridge, followed by a shrill electric bell and the unmistakable sound of pulleys and sturdy chains. Seconds later, the entire lower part of the bridge, roadway and all, moved up like a long flat elevator, reaching the top just as the ship sailed under it with only a few feet to spare. It then disappeared to the left out of his sight, on its way to docking at the furthest inland seaport in the world.

“Well… that ain’t somethin’ you see every day, huh?” He knew some remark was expected, and she seemed satisfied with it. “Not every day most places. But you’ll get used to it here. I still love to watch those really big ships come in, but you’ll get to where you don’t always hear the bridge goin up and down.” As she spoke, the roadway was lowering with the same clattering and creaking of chains, and the bridge became a rather unremarkable-looking span again. 

“Yeah,” he said, “guess you would be use to it, your bein from around here.”

“I’m from Minnesota all right, but not from around here.” She stretched lazily in her chair a moment, as if she were just getting out of bed. Sitting opposite, Ennis stole several sidelong looks at what looked to him like the random collection of clothes she was wearing: a narrowly pleated skirt that Jenny could have told him was called a “broomstick” skirt, long wool-and-velvet jacket worn open over a leotard and dark leggings over battered slip-on shoes. It reminded him vaguely of the group of hippies that he and Jack had met briefly on one of their trips together, but he also noticed an odd-looking necklace that he hadn’t seen before: a silver crescent shape on a thin leather cord. 

“I’m a farm girl – well, really just a farm _town_ girl, from Madelia, that’s way southwest of here. Our big claim to fame is that part of the Jesse James gang was captured there. You know, the bank robbers, but these were three brothers name o’ Younger. They were tryin to get out of the state with a posse after them and they met my great-grandfather on the road, he was just a kid then, asked him for some food. Oscar Sorbel, that was his name. The kid figured they were the bank robbers everybody was looking for and blew the whistle on em – so I’m descended from a famous stool pigeon.”

“Ma’am, you don’t ---“

“Maggie.”

“Uh, Maggie, well, you don’t seem like no farm girl I ever met.”

“Not now. One time I just assumed I would be – husband, kids, helpin’ out with church suppers in the church basement, the whole bit. But Duluth’s like most cities – a lot of people here couldn’t really stay where they came from, or go back to it… Guess if it hadn’t been for the Vietnam war, I could’ve got -- just sorta folded into that life.”

“Thought David said your husband was killed in an accident?”

“Oh, that was in Georgia. A long time later. . . But you have kids, right? Doctor D told me about meeting your daughters at the wedding – so they’ve both moved this past year?” 

Unskilled though he was at conversation, Ennis was able to recognize the change of subject. Knowing that that this apparently outgoing and self-assured woman had closely guarded memories just like he did put him slightly more at ease. "S'right. Alma Junior, she's the older one, she and her husband moved to Amarillo. An' Jenny decided she wanted ta see a little more of the world - she moved to Denver."

"Yeah, I know - David told me he'd passed along some of the stuff I learned living in Atlanta.”

He was a little surprised. “That came from you? Well, it did help.”

“Oh yeah, I lived in a midtown neighborhood in Atlanta for a couple of years. I… had a roommate who worked for an escort service - that's what they called it - so she was out and around in the middle of the night. I was still a country girl from Madelia, but I learned a lot from her fast, she knew how to spot bad neighborhoods. Had to.”

“So why aren’t you back in... Madelia?”

“Just never did fit in from the beginning. I was the youngest of four girls and my parents were sure as anything they’d get a boy that last time. They were so bummed out they didn’t even name me for two weeks – women having babies stayed that long in the hospital that long back then, and the day before my parents were gonna take me home the head nurse came to see them. Said they had to name me to get the birth certificate. And it was all downhill after that.” Her tone was casual, even flippant but he still heard the loneliness in it and something in him understood.

“Ah, don’t get me wrong,” she added, and he wondered what she’d seen in his face. “They loved me anyway, bein an outsider doesn’t mean nobody cares about you. But being loved ‘anyway’ – well, I’ve never met anybody who thought that’d be good enough for them…. You go through anything like that?”

He was more cautious now that she’d crossed over the invisible boundaries he’d drawn years ago. “Well, my wife, my former wife an me, we aren’t on real good terms. Though we’ve been speakin since the wedding. An my girls, well, I never seen as much of em as I should but we’re good.”

“But there’s things you’ve kept to yourself? And you’ve wondered how it’d be if they knew. Right?”

He realized that he’d fallen into his old habit of looking down and away, and with an effort he gave her a direct look and managed to keep his voice firm. “Maggie, we met just now an you’re gettin into things I got no reason to talk with you about.”

She wasn’t as offended as he would have expected. “I know, I know. Startin’ on my whole life story an tryin to drag yours out of ya the first day. It’s just that Doctor D has been my best friend for years, and he’s been through some hard times. Been alone a lot longer than he should’ve. I’m just bein a bit overprotective.”

Ennis was as curious now as he’d been uneasy a moment before; but she pushed back her chair and stood up, with an air of ending the conversation. "It's getting' close to noon - I'd better go pick up the mail. Sometimes I forget until late enough in the afternoon we don’t get it till the next day. You want to go?"

He hesitated, remembering David promising to drive him around the area that evening and also wanting to be left alone for awhile. "You don't get mail delivered here?"

"Usually we do, but some doofus ran over our mailbox last winter, knocked that sucker flat, and no diggin' post holes in the winter. David bought one about a month ago, but we haven't got around to puttin' it up so I got a postoffice box in the meantime."

"That shouldn't be hard ta do - where is it?"

She gave him the glance of a random hostess whose guest had just offered to do the dishes. "Well, it's your first day here..."

"Wouldn't mind doin' it. I intend ta earn my keep."

"If you want...." She led him to a combination garage and storage shed at the side of the house. "It isn't this neat all year, gets pretty cluttered up by fall but we clear it out for the winter so we can keep the cars in here." The mailbox, in a long, unwieldy cardboard box that was still sealed, leaned up against the wall close to the door. “Need me to bring anything?”

He glanced around the dimly-lit room. “Just a bag a cement if you don’t have it, and a bag a sand. You got a screwdriver? Wrench?”

“Everything’s over there.” She pointed to two old plastic toolboxes on a worktable against the wall, and he noticed a shovel and a narrower long-handled spade as well. “Got a post ta put it on?”

“Post, okay. Where’d I look for that?”

“Same place you got the mailbox, hardware store I guess. An’ they’ll have some stick-on numbers too.”

She nodded. “Cement, sand, post, numbers. Right. I’ll be back in about an hour, gotta few more errands to do.”

He leaned against the door of the shed for a few minutes after she left, feeling the kind of hollow vibration people often experience after the sudden cessation of loud noise. He’d expected to meet this woman right away but he had a sense that she’d made him stand and had taken a slow, appraising walk around him, inspecting up and down -- and he wasn’t sure what she was looking for. The dense, grainy smells of oil, old wood, rust and gasoline in the garage were reassuring in their way and in a few moments the ground felt solid again.

Taking the shovel and spade with him, he walked out to the curb and was surprised at the difference between the front of the house and the back. Although the Lake was visible in spots between houses, the view up and down the street was of a city neighborhood, with houses close enough together to that without curtains and shades, neighbors could easily observe each others’ private lives from well-placed windows. The houses, shaded by an expansive line of mature trees, were all the same style as David’s and Maggie’s: large and comfortable-looking but plain in design. 

It wasn’t difficult to find the location of the old box. He immediately started digging a hole around the lump of concrete that was slightly sunk in the ground, and was hauling it out onto the curb when Maggie returned. She left again immediately, however, on discovering that she’d forgotten both the sand and the house numbers. “Write everything down if Maggie’s running an errand,” David advised him later. “Don’t count on her remembering.” But she was more than willing to work with him on the project, pouring sand and water into the cement mixture alternately while he stirred it, and holding the post and mailbox in place while he re-filled the hole and smoothed the mixture on the surface. On an impulse, he took a thick nail he’d found in the garage and scratched the inscription “edm 1985” onto the mud-thick base.

David returned earlier than either of them expected, carrying a wide, flat pizza box. He and Ennis stood and watched, the aromas of fresh bread and melted cheese rising around their noses, and watched as Maggie peeled off the backing on the house numbers and pressed them onto both sides of the mailbox.


	22. Gift of Exile Chapter 22

Ennis leaned carefully off the edge of the ladder, using pliers to maneuver the remaining tacks off a second-story window frame before he pulled the plastic off the last window. He tossed the plastic sheet toward the already-mountainous pile on the ground before starting down the ladder. David caught it, tossed it aside and held the ladder’s base as Ennis climbed down, though it was sturdy enough and had shown no wobbling symptoms. “Earliest the house has gotten un-winterized since we’ve been living here.” 

The invented memory of the Lightning Flat cherry orchard flickered by as he glanced down, although the view from the top of the ladder was not of a wind-worn prairie but rather an extended view of the road and glimpses of the calmer water off the harbor side. By the time he’d reached the ladder’s bottom rung, however, his attention shifted back to David’s broader face, and to the dark hair that somehow looked better in persistent disarray from the wind always blowing off the Lake than it did when neatly combed. Together they gathered and folded the sheets of plastic and Ennis stacked them in one corner of the garage while David pulled several grocery bags out of his car. In Ennis’ first week working at the Northwest Passage Outdoor Supply store, both had already discovered that they worked together seamlessly, each doing what needed to be done with little comment and each wordlessly sensing when the other needed assistance.

“Easy dinner tonight,” David tossed over his shoulder as they started up the stairway. “I got some takeout fried rice and a few boneless pork chops, all we’ve gotta do is cut up the meat. Maggie’s back, I see.”

On the first day, Ennis had been apprehensive that Maggie would spend all her free time upstairs, but had since discovered that she was around either all the time or not at all. “New boyfriend probably,” David had remarked last night; and had then mentioned something that Ennis recognized as the subject she’d evaded. “Maggie’s never been what you’d call predictable. When I’d first met her, she was waitin for her boyfriend to come back from Vietnam. He came down to Georgia on a scholarship, was gonna get into the Vet School at the university and he ‘n’ Maggie were full of plans to move back to Minnesota and be the country vet and his family. I met her not long after he disappeared, he was one of those MIAs that never turned up, and she seemed pretty busted up about it, but Maggie’s like one of those blow-up clown balloons. You know, those life-size ones that you punch and they go splat for a second and then bounce back up again?” Maggie apparently kept busy enough after her shift at “Grandma’s,” which functioned as a community center as much as a bar and restaurant, that at times her car did not appear in the beach house’s driveway for two or three days on end.

He was already cutting up the pork into chunks and piling it on a plate, while David assembled plates, cutlery, a deep frying pan and oil, when Maggie brought up a bowl of carrots and onions to add to the pork. “No broccoli this time,” she assured Ennis as she sat down across from him and started chopping the vegetables, using a battered plate as a chopping board. In the past week, David had discovered that even the smell of broccoli nauseated Ennis, just as Ennis had learned that David not only drank expensive coffee but required heavy cream in it, not milk or “Coffee Mate, God help us. I make allowances when I eat out.” 

She looked at Ennis quizzically across the table. “Has David made his famous cheese grits for you yet? He musta brought em to every Sunday brunch back in Atlanta.” “Yep, we had em Sunday night. Late,” Ennis answered without looking up. “Didn’t know it took so long ta cook.” His own experience with hot cereal was limited to the occasional bowl of oatmeal, and he’d watched with interest as David had simmered the hominy cereal for two hours until it became a parchment-colored paste, had then stirred in beaten eggs, butter, grated cheese and garlic and had baked the mixture in the oven. “He ate over half of it,” David told Maggie with an air of accomplishment, and Ennis gave a noncommittal grunt in reply, but it was true. The subtle baked-popcorn taste mixed perfectly with the cheese and it had proved difficult to stop eating; although the preoccupation with food that other people so often had always mystified him.

“When I first lived in Georgia, at the University, I never would’ve eaten pork in fried rice,” she remarked, tossing a plateful of carrot peelings in the trashcan. “That was the early Seventies, lotsa people into bein’ vegetarian. I even worked at a veggie restaurant in Athens for awhile, not much of a restaurant but it was in this great old building.” 

“The Morton Building,” David supplied. ‘”Yeah, it was some place. There was an abandoned theatre upstairs, an old vaudeville house, I doubt many people in Athens even knew it was there. Still don’t. I’d visit once in awhile but after that first time all I’d order was tea. I mean, that veggie cooking can really do a number on you. The one time I ate dinner there, I swear I shat things I ate in grade school.”

“Well, Ennis might wanta take off for parts unknown on New Year’s Day,” she countered. “Unless he wants to eat black-eyed peas with hog jowls.”

“And neither of us had better spend Christmas at your family’s house. We’d wind up havin’ to eat lutefisk, and who knows what’d happen after that?”

“I never eat lutefisk!”

“Lutefisk?” Ennis wondered if he wanted to know what it was, but it was too late. “I believe,” David said with a straight face, “that the name derives from an ancient Norse word. It means ‘cod soaked in sulphuric acid.’ ” 

Maggie threw a dishtowel at him. “It’s cod soaked in lye.” 

“Oh, that’s very different. No respectable seafood restaurant would run out of lye to soak fish in.” 

Maggie gave Ennis a brief but graphic description of the Scandinavian delicacy. “You start with dried cod, some other kinda whitefish if you can’t get that. First you soak it in water for 5 or 6 days, change the water every day, till it gets really saturated, then you change the water again and add lye to it and soak it for another few days, and it really swells up and gets kind of jelly like.” 

“And if you soak it too long,” David added as Ennis visibly flinched, “it turns into soap.” Maggie ignored him. 

“People have different ways of cooking it. Some people parboil it an some people bake it. My family’s always insisted on having it on the table at Christmas Eve dinner, one of my aunts always brought it. And there’d be a dozen or so side dishes – bacon and cheese and meatballs, and they’d always have akavit or beer too, so by the end of the dinner I’m not sure anybody was knew what they were eating. I had to eat it when I was a kid – you know how some people think their kids will like anything as long as they put cheese on it? And they’d always threaten you with no dessert. Now, they’re happy if I just show up.” 

She handed David the bowl of diced vegetables and a fragrant crackling rose from the pan as he stirred them in the hot oil. “Well, now it’s your turn, Ennis,” he said. “You an’ your folks eat anything strange?”

Ennis thought a moment. “My brother ‘n’ me went ta cookouts when we was both workin’ ranches,” he recalled finally. “They always had mountain oysters.” Maggie looked puzzled. “Mountain oysters?” but David smiled knowingly. “Calf testicles, right?”

“Maybe we’d better talk about something else,” Maggie suggested. “Or none of us are gonna want to eat.”

Their good-natured bickering intrigued but puzzled him. Until he’d met Alma, the only females he’d seen regularly were his mother and sister, and over the years he had come to think of women as life’s police force: always alert for a slacking in responsibility, a foot that strayed off the approved pathways, a breach of the unwritten rules that all women seemed to instinctively know. The only exception, of a sort, that he could think of was Vickie at the Black and Blue Eagle Bar. Recalling the night he’d demolished the bar’s trash can in rage and frustrated grief, he wondered what she had actually seen in him. For that matter, he didn’t let himself dwell on the conclusions she’d have undoubtedly drawn about the “cousin” who had come to stay with them he was staying with.

* * * *

It hadn’t taken even a week for his new household to fall into a routine. An early riser all his life, Ennis now regularly made his way down the stairways and platforms that separated the house from the strip of beach to watch the sun rise over the Lake. He’d found a beached log, still dense and sturdy but weathered enough to be silvery, and would sit with his back against it and Jack’s quilt wrapped loosely around him. On some mornings the colors were intense enough that they overflowed and splashed onto the Lake along the horizon; at other times the sky seemed to leach so much color from the water it was left the color of dark blue or even black ink. But in a way his favorite kind of daybreak was when wraiths of fog hovered and glided here and there over the water, rendering it a kind of odd milky blue and blurring the horizon altogether. It always jogged the stubbornly reclusive awareness of those few moments during his wedding night with Jack that he could never recall. It was less like a blank space than the kind of dark-colored impression left on a wall after a long-resident picture is removed and it continued to puzzle Ennis; but he felt closest to Jack on this mornings and that was enough for now.

The solitude he had a few days a week, with the house mostly to himself, was a relief. In a little over a week he’d had to adjust to more changes than in the past four decades and not surprisingly, it was enervating. He’d surveyed the upstairs apartment and the whole outside of the house, noting a leaky faucet here and a cracked windowpane there as well as the plastic sheets still on the windows from last winter. “You’re working more’n full time just your first week,” Maggie had commented, but seeing the house become more sturdy and whole under his hands in these small ways made it seem a safe and unmovable shelter in the midst of a cyclone of unfamiliar scenes and unknown territories.

On four mornings a week, Wednesday through Saturday, Ennis sat across from David over coffee in the blue and white kitchen, and then they rode together under the latticework of the Aerial Bridge and through town to David’s North Shore Outlet store, which he’d bought, he told Ennis, shortly after moving to Duluth. “Not all of it -- ; the people who’d owned it wanted a I’m the partner to take over who does the everyday runnin’ part.” The front of the store was made to look like an old cabin through a combination of wood beams and log siding; but behind the front was a no-nonsense, decidedly un-rustic building that would have been longer and appeared narrower than it was except for the back part that was partitioned off for what appeared to be some kind of repair shop. “We lease that to out a couple of guys that repair and service snowmobiles,” David explained. “Not much goin’ on there this time of year, but it’s steady income and I don’t mind mentionin’ it when we take out ads.”

During their telephone acquaintance of the past year, David had often mentioned both the store and the family hardware business he had inherited right after college. “How long ‘v’ you been runnin a store?” Ennis asked on the way to work the first day. 

“Since I was a kid, really,” was David’s answer. “I started working there weekends when I was about ten. Runnin errands, workin in the back, I’d never thought I was good at much but I learned early about havin your own money in your pocket. It’s freedom and it’s protection – well, maybe not a guarantee of those things but it helps. 

“You know,” he added with seeming irrelevancy, “how some families have it all figured out what kinda roles everybody plays, like they’re writin their own story? My brother Dean, poor kid, he was real sick with measles when he was little, damaged his eyes some and along the way they discovered he had a heart murmur, very slight one, but that was all she wrote for him. He was actually pretty healthy the whole time we were growin up, it was our mother and daddy who never recovered. Dean got cast as the sickly one in the family, he still lives in my mother’s house. Probably will till he dies. Me, I was the kid who was supposed to take over the family business, marry some nice girl an never move further away than about eight blocks. And I took over the family business all right, guess one out of three is better than nothing.” 

To Ennis’ relief, he did not have to wait on customers, as David put him to catching up on long-neglected inventories and sorting out mail order forms and invoices, checking to see if the stock had arrived, order shipped and payment received. As big as the store appeared, he discovered, many of the sales were through a small catalogue and much of the stock was either ordered periodically from suppliers or fetched from a modestly-sized rental storage unit in the store’s battered cargo van. But it was more paperwork than he’d ever done at one time and by the end of the first day he had a slight headache from squinting so much. And it did not escape David’s notice.

“Gotta get you some reading glasses right away,” was his immediate diagnosis. “You’ll be goin home with headaches every night before long if we don’t.”

Ennis was beginning to appreciate Maggie’s nickname even better. “Don’t go ta doctors much,” he protested. “Never could afford it,” but “you’re farsighted – you can probably get by with just reading glasses and you don’t even need to see a doctor for those. We’ll stop at a drugstore or K-Mart on the way home.” Having been a workingman since the age of 15, Ennis was acutely aware that he was David’s employee as well as houseguest, so he swallowed his annoyance. “Okay, Doc,” he shot as David was walking away. 

David stopped and looked back at him in mock astonishment. “I see Maggie told you about the potato salad,” was his only comment. Ennis was surprised at how different everything looked with things in focus at close view, although he wore the glasses only when he really needed to. They made him feel as if he were looking at the world from behind a glass wall.

* * * *

David technically worked five days a week and took Sunday and Monday off; but Ennis quickly discovered that regular hours were only theory for a person who owns a business. While the store was closed on Sunday, David usually went in for a couple of hours to make sure everything was ready for Monday morning, and often spent an hour or two after dinner totaling up accounts and invoices. But the sun set late in the summer at that high latitude, and they would regularly spend an hour or so sitting on the narrow deck watching the Lake’s colors darken and the city’s lights expand from little sharp punctures of light here and there to a softer glow that illuminated the hillside.

“You done some great work on the house,” David commented as they sat on the deck after dinner. “But you gotta another day off this week, why don’t you do a little exploring? If you want, you can have my car for the day, just pick me up at the store close to dinnertime.” Ennis had already discovered that Duluth, although a much bigger city than Riverton or Casper, was small enough for nothing to be very far away from anything else.

“T’s already taken care of,” he answered. “Maggie told me just as she was leavin she’d be sleepin in tomorrow and probably not goin anyplace ‘n’ I can use her car if I want. She said there’s some kinda nature trail down near the end a the Point, maybe I’ll see what it looks like.” 

“Oh yeah. I’ve heard there’s a park down that way, know there’s a good-size public beach.”

“I’d a thought you’d know about it, since you go out walkin every morning.”

“I should know about it.” David reached over and refilled his wine glass, took a long swallow and stared out at the Lake for a few silent moments. “When my daddy useta take me an’ Nathan an’ Dean on camping trips, ‘least Dean went when they’d let him, we’d take hikes, short ones. But since I’ve moved here, putting the business together is all I’ve had time for. But hey, check it out and tell me about it. There’s a lotta trails, nature areas around Duluth, If I’m walkin every day anyhow, maybe it’s time I started exploring them.”

Ennis didn’t comment on that. He’d heard of jogging and running becoming fashionable over the years, but his work had always provided him with enough exercise that the idea of anyone walking just for the sake of walking was still an oddity.”

“Anyway,” David went on, “you’ve spent your first few days off here working on the house. Spend at least one day takin a break, not that we don’t appreciate it. These old houses, they always need something done to em... and you did good with those inventories at the store, I know there was a lot to do all at once.”

“Yeah, it’s been okay. But there’s sure a lot more ta camping than there useta be.”

Remembering the canvas tent, heavy bedrolls and battered cooking equipment he and Jack had used so long ago, he was amazed at what David’s store offered: legless canoe chairs with padded backs and seats; heaters that attached to propane tanks, mosquito head nets that looked like headgear from an old Mars-invades-Earth movie, sleeping bags with so much fill they seemed like thin mattresses. He even noticed things that couldn’t even be used for tent camping but were useful for camper vehicles, such as portable refrigerators and electric heated travel mugs with plugs to fit cigarette lighters. “You even got an order for a refrigerator ‘bout the size of a packin box. What’s the point of goin camping if you’ve got a refrigerator with ya?”

“I don’t see any, myself, but we stock what customers want. Some really do get into the wilderness thing: backpack everything, portage the canoes between lakes, the whole bit. Other people, they just drive these RVs the size o’ Greyhound buses wherever they want to go, set up in a campground. Me, I like something in between. But they’ve all got money to spend on it.”

Ennis saw his point and the thought of this kind of fantasy camping amused him. “Jack was just like that. Every time we met, had a new tent or some gadget that didn’t work half the time. He prob’ly woulda shown up someday with one a them RVs---“ he lurched to a stop, suddenly realizing that he’d not only mentioned Jack but had even laughed at the memory. His instant feeling of betrayal and guilt was hardly surprising to him but a not-too-distant memory insistently pushed back: next time you think about me, try an’ remember somethin’ ta laugh about.

There was a short silence, but David continued to look at Ennis steadily, showing no surprise. “So his name was Jack…. How long were you together?” 

Could a been 20 years, but “together… It was just one summer, we was both 19. Summer job herdin sheep – that’s how we met. After that summer I got married, Jack did too…” he was suddenly uneasy, as if admitting to some kind of long-concealed transgression, but David nodded as if Ennis had confirmed something.

“I’m not much younger ‘n you, I remember how it was. You were with another man, you were supposed to have somethin mental wrong with you, either that or your daddy wasn’t around enough and your mother was around too much. If you or your Jack ‘d managed to tell anybody, they’d probably ‘v said do just what you did. You know, marry a nice girl, have kids, you’ll forget it.”

Ennis hadn’t thought of that. “Kept thinkin I had forgot, guess he did too but we got together again, it was when our kids was real little. And we kept seein each other on campin trips – we called em fishin trips, two, maybe three times a year after that.”

His head was spinning and he was a little short of breath. Up till now, Ennis had not talked with Jack with anyone other than Mrs. Twist and that brief agonizing call to Lureen. Hearing someone who hadn’t known Jack mention him, especially as your Jack, wasn’t as frightening as he would have thought but it was still an odd feeling, like something newly acquired that surely had its place in the house but at the moment was still sitting in the middle of the floor in a half-unpacked box. “But you ‘n’ Nathan – you lived together didn’t you?” 

“We did in my parents’ house when we were both growin up. After that – well we lived not too far apart so it wasn’t just a couple of times a year.” They looked at each other for a few silent moments, both of them thinking the same thing: far enough for now.

“What we want an’ what we get,” David finally said, and Ennis needed no explanation but his left hand was resting on the small table between them and David’s fingers came to rest on his briefly.

Later, as the night remained unusually warm, Ennis left the window of his attic room open and lay awake for a long time listening to the far-off harbor sounds and the closer wolf-like wails of a loon: where are you? As his thoughts gradually dissolved into sleep, he was more aware than usual of David sleeping in the bedroom of the floor below.


	23. Gift of Exile

The weather turned still warmer over the next few weeks, and the days got even longer. At work, Ennis was spending more time driving to and from the rented storage building and, occasionally, delivering larger items to customers, and for awhile, the reading glasses were helpful in identifying the spidery lines and miniature print on a city map. But he’d always had a good sense of direction, and learned the layout of the city quickly.

Duluth was unlike any city he had imagined, or could have imagined. Instead of radiating out from a central, oldest point it meandered along the Lake for miles, venturing inland and up a 600-foot slope that was steep enough for that part of the city to look, from a distance, like the city was fastened to the hillside by invisible hooks. Being long accustomed to driving on mountain roads served him well in this place, with no mountains but with startlingly steep grades and many of the city streets laid out on a rough grid, marching up the slope with true Lutheran determination. 

Nature was not pushed flat to the ground and built over, as it seemed to be in all the towns Ennis had seen; but rather the city was stitched and woven into it. Most of the buildings he saw had the spare look as the houses in David’s neighborhood but some of the older buildings, many built from the gray-black basalt that lay under the city, had high narrow walls with windows to match, spires that reminded him of church steeples and parapets that looked like the ramparts of fortresses. At this time of year, the severity of the man-made buildings threw Nature’s local enthusiasm for color into sharp relief, like brilliant jewels and delicately colored flowers displayed against a black wall.

One morning he’d been surprised to discover David working at his desk instead of walking up the road and back as was his usual routine. "Got to thinking, you’ve only been here not quite a month and I hadn’t seen much more of what’s around here than you have," he’d explained. "Useta love gettin out in the woods when I was young, now you got me interested in doin that again." Since that morning, Ennis’ sunrise trips down to the beach had been bookended by short walks with David after work. 

It had rained later that day so they started on one of David’s days off, with the park at the end of the sandspit that Ennis had visited the day he’d driven far down the spit in Maggie’s car. It was a sunny day with the Lake tinted dark turquoise and the shoreline of the city clearly visible across the water, but much further away than it was at the beach house. 

The long trail, meandering along the shoreline here and through a remnant of an ancient forest there, was in sharp contrast to the allotted strips of beach that the houses in David’s neighborhood shared; with the only signs of human activity being a few long-abandoned shacks and cabins and a crumbling stone tower that turned out to be the ruins of a lighthouse. The trail was far longer than they’d expected and they lost track of time as they explored, climbing over rocks at the water’s edge as they headed back toward the car. Ennis was in better shape than David but they were both sweating when they finally took a break after following the track over a sand dune, heading for a small copse of trees that offered a windbreak.

"They must be tryin to kill ya," David announced, half out of breath. "why else ‘d they route a trail over a sand dune? It’s like climbin up a mountain with old tires tied to your ankles." "You’re outta shape, Doc," Ennis answered, though he was a little winded too. "I didn’t see that much a this trail when I came down here before."

"You swim here the other day?" David asked. They were relaxing on a slight rise facing the water, leaning back and stretching out their legs to loosen muscles that were tense after climbing over the sand; and Ennis watched a gust of wind blowing a strand of hair across David’s face. It was the best distraction at the moment from what he was feeling as a result of their ankles and feet touching. "Nope, just looked around," he answered, having decided previously not to mention an odd moment on his brief exploration of the grassland area behind the beach. 

It had been a seconds-long glimpse after a slight movement in the brush attracted his attention. He’d caught a glimpse of the prehensile-like tail and the small, triangular ears typical of cats, though from what little he could see he’d guessed it was much larger than an ordinary house cat but definitely smaller than the few mountain lions he’d seen. The animal vanished back through the brush toward the Lake and he might not even have remembered it later, if he hadn’t also seen a brief glimmer of a gold-brown metallic color from a stray shaft of sunlight that brushed against the animal for a few seconds. It had been overcast that day, with the Lake a brooding dark gray at the moment; but hardly dark enough to see a nighttime reflection from the animal’s eyes, so he’d guessed that the other beach visitor had been an oversized neighborhood cat with some kind of copper tag. He wasn’t sure why, but it had been a little disturbing and he’d left right after that.

Only a few days later, at Maggie’s request, he’d spent an hour turning over the recently thawed soil and pulling up winter-shriveled plants from the small garden space near the lower deck. It was somewhat hotter work than he’d anticipated and when the task was done he’d walked down to the beach, pulled off the lace-up shoes he’d already discovered were easier for walking on sand than boots, and plunged into the water. Its iciness had immediately assaulted him, knocking his breath out for a moment; but that wasn’t enough to deter a man who’d spent his life working outdoors in a harsh climate and he was soon able to ignore it enough to dive underwater again and again, fascinated by the water’s utter clarity. In the underwater silence it was like being suspended in another world whose atmosphere consisted of liquid, frozen diamonds.

By the time he’d reached the back door of the house, his soaked cotton shirt and jeans seemed permanently stuck to his skin and he couldn’t get upstairs to his bathroom and a hot shower fast enough. At about the time that the steam from the hot water had filled up the shower stall David came home and Ennis heard his voice, clearly annoyed, asking "what’s all this water an’ sand on the floor?" He brought down a few towels in addition to his wet clothes, mopping up the floor after hanging the shirt and jeans over the deck. "Sorry about that, Doc," he told David. "I just got real cold swimmin, had ta take a hot shower."

"You went swimmin in that? No wonder you were freezing. All those wet clothes stuck to ya."

Ennis shrugged as he draped the now wet towel next to the clothes. "Didn’t have nothin else ta swim in, never have. My and my brother, there was a creek we useta try an get to in summer. And then later, me and Jack’d swim sometimes. This one lake we camped at, it had a cliff you could jump off of, musta been 20, 30 feet up. But we never wore nothin in the water, never needed to. An here…."

"…. yeah, wouldn’t go over too big with the neighbors," David finished. "Or maybe they’d like it too much, and there’d be just as much trouble. Come back here." After seemingly moving half the contents of the closet, David brought out a wooden crate with a huge label reading PEACHES RECORDS on the side, and set it at the end of the hall by the door. "Just dry off here when you’ve been in the water," he advised, dropping a pile of towels onto the crate, "and use the shower in my bathroom." Later that evening, he gave Ennis an old tee shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans with the legs cut off just above the knee. "They’re kinda beat up, had holes worn in the knees so I hadn’t worn ‘em in awhile," he said. "But they’ll keep ya from gettin arrested and they won’t stick to your legs when they’re wet." At first Ennis put the cutoffs and tee shirt away and didn’t use them, as the unfamiliar exposure of both his arms and lower legs, even when he was alone on the beach, made him feel like he’d wandered outdoors in his underwear, but the Lake and its crystalline water had hooked an attraction into him that became steadily more enticing as the weather got milder.

"You live right here on the Lake – don’t you ever go in the water?" he asked David now. Having leisure time had been as unsettling a change for him as anything he’d encountered so far but he understood that in some way, this was part of the task of rebuilding Jack had urged him to embrace. He found himself looking forward to whatever small discoveries the next day would bring, something he’d previously known only during the times he’d secretly carved out of his life for his and Jack’s fishless fishing trips. Curiosity about the new and unfamiliar was something that had disappeared from his life with the end of his childhood, replaced by the alertness of one always watchful for predators. Now his growing curiosity about David surprised him, though his steadily growing attraction to the other man did not. The automatic, breath-catching sense of danger and the inner urge to stamp such feelings down out of view was still there; but it had somehow shrunk from an inner gut-punch to a less disabling, though joltingly painful, poke in the ribs. 

"Too cold for me most places," David answered. "This climate, it isn’t as big a change for you as it was for me. My first winter here, good God, I thought I’d died and gone to Antarctica. But when I was growin’ up – yeah, summers we spent a lot of time in the water. Anything you c’d do to cool off. Once or twice we went down to Panama City in Florida, people useta call that whole stretch ‘o coast the Redneck Riviera, still do I guess." He paused and a wry, half-amused smile crossed his face. "And then there was Sun Valley." 

He rummaged in one of his pockets and pulled out a joint, an occasional indulgence that had survived his giving up smoking a few years before. Ennis had already adjusted to taking cigarettes and lighter to the deck or sitting near an open window: "we’ll figure out something else in the winter", David had told him, and Ennis hadn’t replied to that. He still had a return ticket to Casper in late August, although his mind moved uneasily away from imagining another winter like the last two. Accustomed to David’s often rambling speech by this time, he now handed him a lighter and waited. 

David sent a long plume of smoke toward the Lake. "For a few weeks a couple of summers – I was about 12, 13 – my folks’d send me and Dean up near Augusta to visit our aunt and uncle and cousin, that was my aunt Carol, and Charlene, you met them at the wedding. Not the most excitin’ place in the world to visit, but there was a place called Sun Valley where we all useta go at least a few days a week. Sounds like the kinda place travel magazines write about but it wasn’t really anything you’d go outa your way for -- just a dredged-out lake, beach they’d built with sand they’d trucked in from someplace, concession stand, arcade with plenty of pinball machines. It was a good place to spend a day doin’ nothing in particular if that’s what you wanted to do.

"I’d hang out with a group of guys about my age. It was better ‘n’ hangin’ out with Dean or Charlene, but those summers, right about that time, I started feelin’ like I was different from ‘em some way. It was the same way with the other guys in school. I wasn’t quite one ‘o the class nerds, didn’t get picked on, but that mighta been because I wasn’t around much after school or weekends, worked at my Dad’s store a lot. Anyway, one day at Sun Valley, one of ‘em came up all excited, told us he’d found a little knothole in the wall behind the girls’ dressing room."

"You spied on ‘em gettin nekkid?" Ennis laughed a little. "Did ya get caught?" 

"Yeah, but not before we got a good look. ‘You c’n see everything,’ the guy that found the peephole kept telling us. Somebody else said ‘don’t worry, I c’n handle whatever comes up.’ A few of the guys got a hard-on just thinkin’ about it before we even got there – we called it a ‘woody’ back then.

"Not that it was any kinda peep show, really. What I kept thinkin’ about when it came my turn was that some o’ these girls, their mamas musta taught ‘em to get undressed without anybody seein’ em naked. Pullin’ off and puttin’ on stuff underneath their skirts, towels draped around em, things like that, I wondered if some of em ever even saw themselves with no clothes on. There was still plenty to see, sure, a few were even bare-assed naked, didn’t do much for me, but the other guys, they were goin crazy. By that time, all of us were standin’ up straight, and o’ course, all of us were wearin swimming trunks so there wasn’t much to guess at, and that got me hotter ‘n’ I’d ever been. I got damn close to shootin’ off right there. Can’t say it was a complete surprise….

"We were all laughin’, shovin’ and punchin’ each other, so we didn’t see my Uncle Steve come around the side o’ the building till he was right there. ‘Havin’ a good time, boys?’ was all he said but that was enough to make the lot of ‘em disappear like somebody’d vaporized ‘em. And of course, I had to stay – what else was I gonna do, put my jeans ‘n’ shirt back on and hitchhike outta town? I remember thinkin aw shit, am I gonna catch it but it wasn’t anything like I’d of thought.

"My Uncle Steve – well, I’ll put it this way, he wasn’t the kind of uncle who dresses up as Santa Claus at Christmastime. He was a military man, with two capital M’s. Went to school at The Citadel in Charleston – that’s a very big deal in Southern families -- saw a lot of action in World War II and went back as an officer during Korea, I c’n remember him coming home when I was about five or so. He didn’t exactly make us stand at attention when he talked to us, but you pretty much got the message that you’d better listen and you’d better not slouch.

" ‘So Dave,’ he said, ‘you boys were gettin a sneak preview were you?’ "Yes sir, I guess we were,’ I said, what else could I say? 

" ‘Didja like what you were lookin at, Dave?’ I didn’t know what he was gettin at but I figured he’d already seen us, best to just bring it right out. So I said was ‘yes sir, I did. One o’ the guys found that knothole an’ we just thought we’d have a look at the girls.’

"He just kept starin' at me, musta been just ten seconds or so but it felt like forever. ‘Yeah, I stood ‘n’ watched awhile too,’ he said finally. ‘And those other boys were havin’ a good time peekin’ at the girls. But you were havin’ a good time watchin’ them. Weren’t you?’ Even if I hadn’t been scared shitless, I couldnta said a word, I was that bowled over."

Ennis was stunned. "Damn. What’d he do to ya?"

"Didn’t do anything, but I got an earful. ‘You’re lucky those other boys didn’t notice where you were lookin,’ he said. ‘Most other people -- they’re not gonna understand and you gotta learn to be careful. You c’n get hurt real bad if you don’t. So get useta scopin’ out other people, figure out as quick as you can whether they’re gonna mind their own business or not. Most o’ the time, they’re not.’ "

He sighed and shook his head. "Uncle Steve never mentioned it again, and I know damn well he never told anybody. One of the other guys asked me what happened, all I told him was my uncle gave me hell but I wasn’t sorry we did it. And I was just 13, no way to ever bring it up with my uncle, but since then…. I’ve wondered a lot how things were with him. Right before he let me go, he said something I never forgot – ‘men like us,’ he said, ‘we gotta be tough and we gotta be smart.’ That was the first time anybody ever called me a man…. He woulda known all about bein tough in that way, I can’t imagine bein gay and in the military in those days…. Anything like that happen to you growin up?"

Ennis thought of that morning when he’d been nine and his father’s glittering-eyed look and oddly flushed face: you an’ K.E. start on the chores later, got somethin’ you need ta see… "No way," he said finally. “My dad, he had a hard hand on him – me ‘n’ my brother ‘n’ sister, my mom too, we always knew there was trouble comin’ when he’d say something like ‘I don’t think you heard too good.’ If he’d caught me peekin’ at girls, let alone boys…" The memory of Earl’s mutilated body flickered through his mind, along with a near-recollection about something else in the house that morning that was whisked away before it could even take form. "Well, there was two guys had a ranch together near Sage," he finally blurted out, "one of ‘em got murdered one night. It was pretty bad."

David looked troubled but not, Ennis noticed, unbelieving. "Damn…. They ever catch who did it?"

"I don’t think so. Fact is, I don’t think anybody tried too hard. A couple a the kids at school, they was jokin about it, laughin about it like my Dad did."

David shifted his weight slightly to sit a little closer. "Guess I’ve been luckier ‘n’ you, but that’s one of the things my uncle was warnin me about. Didn’t take me long to learn that. I useta hear jokes about beatin up fags when I was growin up and it was like they were talkin about getting rid of a rat they’d found in the pantry. Plenty o’ good ole boys around where I grew up that woulda done something like that." 

"Yeah, on Saturday afternoon and sat in church on Sunday," Ennis said bitterly, remembering Mrs. Twist’s guesses at Jack’s killers’ activities and their very ordinariness that made the odor of corruption all the more intense.

"And just knew they were in good standin with the Lord," David rejoined. "So long as nobody’d seen ‘em buyin beer at a store in the next county the week before."

"With the girlfriend the wife don’t know about waitin in the car." Ennis jumped as the last of the joint, burned down to the size of a pencil eraser, scorched his fingers and he flicked it away into the sand. "So you kept bein – queer – a secret. Huh?"

"Had to for a long time. Comin' out in Macon, Georgia in the 1960s -- no way could ya do that. And in college, things changed a lot around the time I was there, but mostly the last year or so. But later I spent a lotta time in Atlanta and I was out there, gay neighborhoods were startin up in cities by that time, even Southern cities. And I let my family know too, though my Daddy'd died by that time. Other people, I pretty much let 'em know whenever it was it came up. A couple of folks here —" he leaned toward Ennis with a just-between-us smile that reminded Ennis for a moment of their first conversation at Alma Junior's wedding - "they found out the first year or so, when they tried to fix me up with blind dates." 

The conversation had Ennis feeling increasingly jumpy, as if he'd drunk too much coffee or was watching someone walk along the edge of a very high cliff. He brushed the sand off his shoes and stood up, and they headed back toward the car. A thin cloud layer had moved in and the wind had picked up slightly. The Lake, now dark grey, glimmered wetly here and there where a few stray strands of sunlight reached it.

Ennis was too curious to not ask. "Aren't you ever afraid of getting -- beat up, or worse? Don’t that ever worry ya?"

"Sure bro," David answered. "But when it comes to bein' scared, there's a lot more'n that to choose from."

"Bro?" Though Ennis had taken to calling David "Doc" occasionally, David had never yet called him by anything but his given name.

David looked a little self-conscious but a little expectant at the same time. "Short for ‘brother’, ", he answered. "Doesn’t mean the same thing as ‘Bubba’, now. That’d never suit you."

Ennis gave him what David was coming to know as his smile look. "Hm. Sorta like ‘bud.’ "

"Something like that."


	24. Gift of Exile

“Haven’t seen these b’fore,” Ennis said, looking over a stack of open boxes containing multicolored ropes of different lengths, various nets, open baskets covered with netting and packages with baffling names like “fender whips” and “snap chain stringer.” “Supplies for boating ‘n fishing,” David answered. “Remember all that stuff we had on Clearance, I told ya it was from last year? That’s stuff that didn’t sell and we discontinued, and I’m replace it with some boating stuff this year. Any town on the Great Lakes is full o’ boat nerds and I’m gonna see if we c’n get a few of em in here.”

“Hm. Hope they sell,” was all Ennis said as he started sorting out the new merchandise. As much as he loved to watch the watercraft on the Lake, even starting to recognize some of the huge ore boats by name well before they got to the bridge, he still thought of boats as wobbly floating trucks in perpetual peril of tipping over at any sudden movement or at the slightest error in steering. 

His part time job became full-time for awhile, as orders from the store’s small catalogue had been coming in since April and several back-ordered items had come in at once. Catching up meant two Sundays checking items against invoices and packing them, as well as staying considerably after closing time. “Happens that way sometimes, and by the time we get the stuff, people who ordered it are gettin impatient,” David remarked to Ennis. “Especially stuff for outdoors, at least around here, summers bein as short as they are.” Some of the merchandise had been shipped to customers directly from the manufacturer, but even this had to be checked against invoices and payments. The store, David explained, was large enough to get a significant income from catalogue orders but small enough that he had to process most of the orders himself.

Routine as the work was, and despite so much working indoors giving him a cramped feeling, he was content for now to be working with David alone in the store and sharing a quick meal of take-out food when they got home. He didn’t miss the store’s two other employees, although he’d had no trouble getting along with them.

Jonathan, 24 but seeming years younger, was only a few inches shorter than Ennis and both men were thin with long legs. But where Ennis’ muscles were like hard, flat ropes, Jonathan’s were like tightly-stretched wires that vibrated at the slightest pressure; and he had a light, drawling voice that seemed to slide up to a half-question mark at the end of sentences. David had mentioned that Jonathan lived with his aunt, an attorney who’d navigated the maze of paperwork involved in buying the house and the store, and that he’d hired Jonathan as a favor to her. He didn’t explain, and Ennis didn’t ask, why Jonathan didn’t have his own place; but Ennis tried to think of the younger man in the same way as the occasional ranch owner’s son, brother-in-law or cousin he’d had to work with. And his own situation, he reflected wryly, wasn’t that much different at the moment.

But Jonathan seemed to have been put there especially to set Ennis’ nerves on edge. Occasionally he’d refer to David as “your cousin,” with a glance and knowing smile that seemed taunting to Ennis, who didn’t recognize it as flirtatious teasing. Jonathan could be moody at times and flippant at others – “honey, I just open the boxes,” he answered when Ennis had asked him a question in the stock room on his first day. 

Kelly, the store’s other clerk, was about the same age as Jonathan and Ennis was a little more comfortable with her. He’d noticed how quick she was to laugh at anyone’s joke and to agree with any strong opinion, and she had a knack for sweet-talking customers that made her useful to have around. “Vanilla pudding with whipped cream,” Maggie had called her disdainfully during one of their occasional household suppers together, but Ennis found her easy enough to work with. Unlike Ennis, Kelly seemed endlessly amused by Jonathan and to regard his effeminacy as a novelty. “You’re silly!” she would giggle dozens of times a day; or occasionally, “you’re crazy!”, even when Jonathan’s banter was jokingly acerbic. “Kelly girl,” he admonished her one day about the leg warmers and artfully ripped sweatshirt she was wearing, “Flashdance was the new look two years ago.”

“Hey, I get a lot of compliments on this outfit!” she protested.

“Not from anybody who loves you.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They were still a little cautious and awkward with each other, like two refugees in an arranged marriage. But increasingly, the details of everyday life that become a hazy background in memory – sitting across a breakfast table, taking turns at doing laundry, errands to buy groceries, cleaning supplies or gasoline – had begun to feel natural. And they knew each other better now, on this day in mid-June.

David’s casual but persistent phone calls to Wyoming had peeled back the thinnest top layers of silence that had grown around Ennis in the 20 years since he and Jack had met. In the months after Jack’s death, when the strain of keeping his grief a secret had daily exhausted him, he’d been haunted by the thought that all his memories of Jack, the most important and cherished of his life, would die with him. That they would simply vanish into space, as if they had never been, had been far more troubling than contemplating his own eventual death. 

But since his inadvertent mention of Jack to David, various recollections had ventured out one by one, to be held up in a good light and admired from all sides. Ennis had now told David about the hardships of herding sheep, his accident with a bear that cost them their week’s rations and how they’d shot an elk to escape the fate of living on beans for seven days; about shooting at coyotes and Jack’s pride in the eagle feather he wore on his hat; the torrential storm on one of their camping trips that had stranded them under a rocky overhang for a night. He unconsciously distinguished between memories of the summer on Brokeback and of their twice-yearly “fishing trips,” and David noted, with every recollection, whether Ennis referred to “that summer” or to “one a our trips together.”

Along the way, Ennis had noticed a subtle change in David as well. Long-accustomed to keeping a cautious eye on his surroundings, he’d grown used to seeing David employ a smile, a tone of voice, a nod at just the right moment, to draw people out in conversation or to put them at ease. But at home he often tended now to slouch or lean back in a chair, to react to a comment with a spontaneous glance or smile. It was less like an actor removing a disguising mask than an expert dancer exchanging a pair of narrow, polished dancing shoes for comfortable house slippers.

“David’s been happy since you’ve been here,” Maggie’d said one Sunday morning when she’d come up for coffee.

Ennis was surprised. “He wasn’t happy b’fore?”

“Not really,” she answered after a moment. “Mostly just cheerful.”

Maggie had been home only briefly lately and Ennis had noted the number of days he hadn’t seen her car in front of the house at all. “Don’t worry about that, bro,” David had told him last Monday, as they worked together at the back of the otherwise closed store. “I know she can be pretty flaky – don’t count on her bein’ on time for anything, only reason she gets to work at Grandma’s when she’s supposed to is because it’s close enough to talk to from home. For that matter, don’t depend on her givin you directions if you’re not sure where you’re going. But she’s got a good heart, always there when you really need her. She was one of the people who were there for me after Nathan died, I c’n tell ya that.”

“That how you ended up here?”

“Pretty much. I was wantin’ to leave Georgia, didn’t have any idea where to go, and she suggested I come up here, offered to let me stay at her place for awhile.”

Ennis couldn’t resist. “Like you did when you called me.”

“Like I did, yeah, except she didn’t have a job to offer me. But it wasn’t long before I found the store.” He thought a moment and added, with a wry attitude that stopped just short of bitterness. “Kept that plain-Jane name it had, ‘North Shore’ is sorta like ‘Acme” around here. One o’ these days, I oughta rename it after Nathan. His money was what bought a lot of it.”

“Thought you sold the store in Georgia when ya moved?”

“I did, but that wouldn’t o’ been enough for this business and half the house too. When Nathan’s parents got killed, their will gave him an outright bequest at age 18 but most of the estate, he just had the income from it. That was because o’ Sheila’s dad, my mom said. He was a hard drinker, gambled too an’ wasn’t too good at it. Wasted most of their money – one reason Sheila wound up with so much real estate was her mom and granddaddy sockin’ money away in property and keeping the deeds locked up. Guess they figured her dad couldn’t drink or gamble that up. So Nathan had plenty of cash, but Sheila’s family, they controlled most of it. Nathan’s folks had a lotta things planned out but they didn’t figure on both of em dyin at once.

“Anyway, when he turned 18, the family lawyer – one o’ Sheila’s second cousins, a pretty good guy actually – he contacted Nathan right away an’ told him he had to make a will. Nathan and me, we both laughed about it. “Why ring the bell before you’re ready to get off the bus?” that was how he put it. Hell, we were 18, what did we know? We both still thought we’d live to a ripe old age, maybe 45, and that was such a long way off it’d never get there. But he went ahead and met with the lawyer, of course most of it got divvied up among his mom’s family. They saw to that. But just on an impulse he left a lump sum of money to me, Dean and my parents. So I met with my mom and Dean and told them I was selling the hardware store, they’d have to buy me out if they wanted the income. My mom wasn’t happy about partin’ with that money, even though she still had some o’ the money my dad left her but she went along with it. So…. Nathan looked after all of us better than he knew.” 

Ennis wondered, as he had before when David had mentioned Nathan, how the other man had died and why David mentioned his family, other than his grandmother, so rarely. But David had not asked him about Jack’s death, and so Ennis was satisfied to keep that beyond the boundaries of their growing closeness for now.

“Jack didn’t leave anything much,” he ventured. “That quilt I take down ta the beach mornings, his Mama gave that ta me when she sold the ranch ‘n’ moved last year.”

He didn’t know what response he’d expected but the brief pause was just long enough to make him apprehensive. “Do you remember,” David asked finally and a little too casually, “that first morning we went horseback riding? I’d told Gramma Alex I’d meet her for breakfast, but that ended earlier’n I thought so you weren’t quite ready when I got there. You asked me in for some really bad coffee, and you said it’d get warmer today, decided you needed a lighter jacket an’ you went to the closet to get one.”

Ennis wanted to look away but met his eyes steadily.

“When I saw those shirts,” David went on, “then what I saw when I watched you walkin’ down that aisle with your daughter, that sadness, it’s still there, you wear it like a hair shirt, – I understood some of what it was about. You’re not the only one who’s been there, you know. ”

An invisible band was suddenly squeezing the breath up out of Ennis’ chest and a huge blood vessel had somehow materialized inside his skull and was pounding like the reverberation of a nearby explosion. He glared at David wordlessly.

On his end David seemed to be treading through a minefield, one wary step at a time. “So, did Jack’s mother give them to you, like she gave you the quilt?”

Ennis tried to reconcile the idea of someone else knowing about the shirts, of David recalling his trailer and the nested shirts on the closet door during their phone conversations. “That’s right,” he answered almost inaudibly. “One of em’s his ‘n’ one’s mine. We wore em that summer…. Jack took and kept em, I’d forgot losing it after all those years ‘n’ then I visited his parents, not long after—“ He couldn’t go any further. “So those two paintings I saw – way back there in that little space next ta your room?”

David paused for a moment, suddenly interested in the list of postage charges he’d been adding up by hand. “Fair enough,” he finally said and Ennis rearranged his chair slightly. Like always, he knew, David’s answer would be much longer than his own had been.

“Guess you already figured Nathan did those,” he began. “Far back as I can remember he was always sketching stuff, I wish now I’d saved more of it. And what he'd draw it wasn't always things other people'd look twice at. Sometimes he'd watch somebody sittin at a bus stop or at a desk when they weren't lookin and start drawin their hands or their face. He'd even do caricatures - when we were kids, adults we thought were on our case, you know, relatives or teachers, he'd get a scrap- o' paper, do two or three strokes with a pencil and there was the person's face, lookin like something in a comic strip. And o' course, his parents noticed.

"You know how some parents map out what their kids are gonna do when they grow up? Well, Nathan's parents did that; trouble was they had two different maps. Nathan was great at basketball an' track, so his daddy was sure as anything he had to be a sports star, kinda finish what the old man started. But Sheila, she was so interested in art all along and had that gallery - she was determined Nathan was gonna work in the 'family business' as she called it. Sheila pretty much ran things things in that family so she woulda got her way eventually, but no tellin how that woulda worked out.

"Nathan was one of those people who think they gotta do everything perfect and his folks sure kept that pot stirred. Not that they were on his case - they'd push him all the time but they always somehow made it sound like they were doin him a favor. He'd bring home: a report card with all A's except one B and he'd hear 'now, you're so talented, Nathan, I know can do better than that.'

"When his parents got killed I knew I should feel bad about it - it hit my folks pretty hard -- but I was so excited about his comin to live with us, now could I not be? But for almost the first year, he hardly seemed: to know any of us were there. Of course, he had to change schools -- went from a fancy private school in Atlanta to one of the Macon public schools -- but he got to be one of the popular kids real quick. That didn't surprise me. People, adults when we were growin up and almost everybody, they thought he was just naturally good at everything but they didn't see how he worked like hell at it. He went out for track, basketball, even the school chorus, you name it. I guess I didn't really understand till just a few years ago, you hear o' people drinkin to drown their sorrows, but pushin yourself an' workin your butt off can work just as well, you know?"

Ennis thought of the extra pay that had piled up in the year after Jack had died, the anodyne of all the extra hours and days he'd sought out. "Yeah, I know somethin about that."

"Not that I minded hangin out with a popular kid -- I got known as Nathan's best friend pretty quick and it mighta been good for me. I'd been kind of a pudgy kid up till then and I never gave it much thought when we were little kids, it was just me an’ Nathan. But now I was worried he’d be embarrassed at havin me tag along with him. So I got in shape just keepin up -- if he was runnin laps on the school track, I was runnin laps too. 

“It wasn't long after that my Daddy started takin us on camping trips, he was pretty quiet, kinda like you, and when Nathan's folks were alive he just sorta went along with them and my Mom. And Mom. ... I'd say she was jealous of Sheila, envied her but it wasn't exactly that. It. wasn't mainly that she wanted all the stuff Sheila had, the clothes and the houses and the art gallery, in was more like she wanted to be her. They were both crazy about Nathan and if it was anybody else I'da been jealous but once Nathan came to live with us, I could .get away with just about anything if I was with him.

“Once he finished that painting, though, he didn’t seem to want it, maybe it wasn’t quite what he had in mind. When he saw I liked it, though, he told me ‘ go ahead and keep it. I just don’t wanna see it again.’ So that’s how those pictures ended up here in Duluth.”

They went back to work, but Ennis was grateful it was late in the afternoon, as he was finding it impossible to concentrate. Despite the revelation about the shirts, David hadn’t pressed him for any more details and Ennis was satisfied to wait for the story he knew he’d inevitably hear about the cemetery painting. He could already guess at some of it.

That night in his room, Ennis opened the closet door and looked for a long time at the two nestled shirts, gently sliding the palm of his right hand over the blue cotton of Jack’s shirt, squeezing it gently to watch the cloth puff out at each and of his fist, before taking the photo out of the pocket. He held it up next to the postcard and imagined, as he had so often over the past two years, Jack’s youthful face across a campfire with the mountain’s peaks becoming dark outlines as light faded with the dusk. But this time, after returning the photo to the shirt pocket, his fingers traced wonderingly over the hook on the door that held the shirt’s hanger.

Unlike the occasional nails in the wall of the bedroom and the fixtures on the closet door, the brass on the coat hook was still bright, the heads of the screws that held it in place still grayish silver, the metal surfaces smooth. The hook had never been used before he had taken up residence in this room, and he knew now how long it had been there.


	25. Gift of Exile

Maggie’s car had reappeared in the driveway when they arrived home a few days later. “Told ya she’d be back,” David remarked but before they even got to the stairway Maggie hurried out the front door, dressed in what looked to Ennis like an Indian princess costume from an old movie and followed by a tall, blonde man. “H-e-y-y-y Ennis, Doctor D!” she called brightly. “Glad we didn’t miss each other, I want you to meet somebody!” Ennis glanced at David and got a new boyfriend – what did I tell ya? look in reply. Maggie had taken to braiding her reddish hair lately but right now it billowed and fluttered around her face like a burnished scarf and her pale Nordic skin now had a frosted-cream color. “This is the housemate I told you about, my friend from Georgia, David,” she said to her companion. “And this is his cousin from Wyoming. Ennis.” Ennis was relieved at the family reference but, surprisingly, a little irritated at the same time. . “And this is Sam Madsen.”

Sam, with his stoutly muscular body, unruly blonde hair and a broad-boned face whose ruddiness gave it a look of always being slightly sunburned, would have been quickly recognized by any of the Viking descendants who’d populated Minnesota over the past few centuries. “Good ‘t meetcha,” was all he said, making Ennis recall Jonathan’s recent remark that “lotsa Minnesota people aren’t much more for conversation than you are.” Nevertheless, Ennis noticed the extra wrinkling around Sam’s eyes, the rough terrain of the skin on the rest of his face and the large knuckles and callouses on his hands, and recognized the look of another who’d spent much of his life working outdoors. “Sam works for Animal Control,” Maggie informed them; “yep” was Sam’s only rejoiner.

“We’re headin over to Sam’s place right now,” Maggie said. She dug a battered envelope out of her oversized purse -- which looked to Ennis like a highly-decorated version of the sacks he and Jack had used to hang bacon up out of the reach of bears – and scribbled a phone number on it hastily. “Here’s the number if anybody needs to reach me. I’m scheduled to work all weekend, so I might not be back before Monday.”

David put it in his pocket. “I haven’t seen ya all week, Maggie. Told Ennis I figured you had something interestin going on.”

She pretended to pout. “We haven’t seen much of you at Grandma’s since I don’t know when. Fridays just aren’t the same.”

“Yeah, we’ve both been busier ‘n a one-armed paper hanger at the store but we’re finishin up now.” He looked at Ennis questioningly. “Okay to stop by there after work tomorrow? Have a few drinks?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ennis knew there was nothing to do about his automatic apprehension except try to ignore it. It was a technique he hadn’t yet mastered but which had become imperceptibly easier over the past weeks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jonathan had not been to work since Tuesday. “Andrea called,” David mentioned the next day. “He hadn’t been feelin too good.” 

Ennis knew that not all men had a wife and two children by age 25 as he’d had, but it seemed odd to him that Jonathan would still be living with his aunt. “Seems like he’d wanna have his own place. He takin care of her or something?”

“She’s takin care of him’s more like it,” David answered. “Jonathan’s had a pretty hard life so far. His family, that side of it anyway, they’re – well, real religious, in the worst way if you know what I mean. They found out he was gay when he was about 16 and figured the best thing t’ do was beat the Devil out of him. Literally. They finally threw him out six years ago, or he couldn’t take it anymore and left, I’m not sure which, eventually he ended up in a shelter in Minneapolis. If it weren’t for Andrea, I’m not sure he’d still be alive. He hasn’t been here in Duluth long, I think it’s been about a year or so.”

The familiar memory of his father, and the fear that had been part of the very air one breathed in the del Mar household, was followed by another memory that didn’t flash by but perched on the edge of Ennis’ thoughts. Javier back in Wyoming, whose family, according to Ken Heiman, had wanted nothing to do with him just when he had needed them the most. It was troubling enough that he turned back to his work without answering and David watched him narrowly for a few minutes but said nothing more.

On Friday afternoon, David surprised him by suggesting they take off early. “I just checked with Kelly, she said she wouldn’t mind gettin an hour’s head start on the weekend.” Kelly, straightening shelves nearby, sent him a wide-eyed look and half-shrug to confirm that this wasn’t a regular Friday occurrence. Looking at David, who was leaning casually against a counter and waiting for his answer, Ennis noticed other changes for the first time. The man who’d greeted him on the beach a little over a month ago wearing carefully-pressed trousers and white sweater was now wearing well-fitting jeans, tee shirt and a light jacket and his hair was still carefully barbered but looked slightly windblown, with one stubborn lock on the left side flopping over and curling over his right cheekbone like a comma. Even on the day Ennis had met him David had never been city-pale, but now more time spent outdoors with Ennis had changed the tints of his skin slightly, throwing his gray eyes into sharper relief. “Wouldn’t mind if it’s okay with you, Doc,” he answered.

“Definitely all right with me – we’ve both earned it. Now let’s start closin up before anybody comes in. We’ll have more’n enough time to finish up Seven Bridges.” 

Despite the temporary glut of work they’d continued their walks together, exploring the world of nature that flourished behind the city and even in the middle of it. On his errands in the van Ennis had regularly caught glimpses of streams, small cataracts and wooded niches; and in the few spare hours they managed, he and David were exploring Seven Bridges Road and its surrounding parks, one bridge at a time.

At the east end of Skyline Drive, running along the Lake’s ancient shoreline at the top of the hill where one panoramic view melded into another, the road turned and wound down the steep ravine toward the Lake. Along its descent, seven eroded but still sturdy stone bridges crossed a small river, amiably named Amity Creek. Starting at the top of the hill, Ennis and David had stopped at the first two bridges and watched the creek slice effortlessly through the softer layers of the old volcanic rock to create small gorges and waterfalls. On the easier slopes the current flowed and tumbled rather sedately; but early in the year, and in this particular year when the Lake was at a record high level, even some of the smallest creek beds filled up with billowing white crinolines of water. Although invisible this far back from the shoreline the Lake made its presence powerfully felt, as if it had called up to the ridge with an imperious voice and all the water responded with a mad rush down the ravine.

For so much of Ennis’ working life, Nature had been an opponent whose blows were measured in wind, sleet, cold that could freeze fingers and toes, streams that could swell quickly and dangerously during storms. It was during his brief times with Jack that even these had a certain exhilaration. During his and Jack’s hours-long rides along streams and lakes and over mountain trails, everything they saw took on importance and value because of the moments when either he or Jack said look over there! and they saw, felt, heard and smelled the same things at the same time. Now, exploring this landscape of gorges, cliffs, shadowy glades and sunny, flower-dotted meadows with David transformed it from scenery to be looked at into a realm ruled by a spirit that had drawn an invisible circle to embrace them both. 

They could have walked the whole 4-mile road in one day, but by the third bridge they’d started exploring the maze of brooks and riverlets, all spaced by grassy banks leading up to low but steep ridges. This was border country between the evergreen and hardwood forests; so aspens, birches and fir trees were all cluttered together, the early-summer gentle green shades of the hardwoods seeming to glow slightly wherever they were framed by the evergreens’ denser colors and deep shadows. “I’ve driven down this road in the fall,” David told Ennis, “and those fir trees never change color much so the other ones look real bright standin next to ‘em.” Before long they were rolling up their jeans and wading along the calmer stretches, climbing over rocks at some of the rapids and occasionally discovering water slides accidentally. “Oughta bring those cutoffs I gave ya,” David suggested. “Uh, I still feel nekkid wearin that getup,” was Ennis’ response, but he stashed his swimming clothes in the back seat of the car nevertheless. 

“So, David asked as the car pulled out of the parking lot, “you still up for Grandma’s later?”

Ennis shrugged. “Can’t see puttin Maggie off much longer, ‘specially her workin just across the bridge. She’s been askin and I keep tellin her I’ll come by.” He tried to sound casual, but his life in Duluth so far had not included places like the crowded, noisily vital neighborhood restaurant and bar where Maggie worked. He now wondered if David known how uneasy he’d been on that night in Wyoming at the Black and Blue Eagle Bar. “Well, David ventured, ”at least we’ve already met the boyfriend. He’ll prob’ly be there.”

“Hm. Yeah, you said her taste was improvin.”

“I never met the guy she was engaged to years ago. But from what she told me he grew up on a farm, wanted t’ be a vet. Most of the guys I’ve seen Maggie take up with are kinda bad-boys, you know, guys ya know won’t stick around for long. Even her husband was like that, I figure that might’ve ended by now if he hadn’t got himself killed. So maybe she’s serious about this one.”   
.

 

Ennis wiped some sweat from his face, drying the palm of his hand on his shirt sleeve. “Better day f’r swimmin’ than walkin. This is the first hot day since I got here.”

“That’s perfect,” David answered cryptically. “We’re close to the bottom of the road, we’ll be gettin to the Deeps today.”

“The what?”

“You’ll see. Just put on those swimmin clothes I gave ya.”

Twenty minutes later, David found a narrow shoulder to park the car. After a short hike downhill they saw the bridge just ahead of them, and Ennis caught a glimpse of the waterfall underneath it. Standing behind the partial screen of the open car door, he changed to his cut-off jeans and tee shirt and David had stripped to boxer shorts. 

“Thought you said the water was too cold ta swim in,” he now remarked to David, admiring the sight nonetheless. “I’ve been swimmin in a few other lakes around here,” David answered. “It’s Superior that’s the icebox. We’re lucky to have this place to ourselves – it’s a popular place all summer, looks like a public beach sometimes.”

They stood on a broad rock ledge whose gentle downward slope changed abruptly to a drop of more than 20 feet. To their right was the highest and widest waterfall they’d seen yet, although it looked like an easy enough slope for the falls to serve as a waterslide; and below them was a wide spot in the creek carved into an oblong pool with a broad gravel bar to one side. The ledge was no higher than the one that Ennis and Jack had jumped from on that first, euphoric “fishing trip” and the feeling of giddiness and freedom was still a vivid memory. 

But it was a memory; and looking over this rock ledge, Ennis was suddenly conscious of every day of his 41 years. They seemed suddenly to be standing at a dizzying height and the pool below looked only a little bigger than a water barrel surrounded by menacing-looking rocks. Each of them gazed down at the water dubiously, and each waited for the other to make a move. 

Somebody’s gotta go first, Ennis finally thought, ignoring the feeling that his stomach seemed to have contracted into a tight ball and every nerve in his arms and shoulders had somehow migrated to the surface of his skin. He took two steps down the rock’s final incline before David remarked:

“I think this is the spot people jump from.”

Ennis wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath until it burst out of him. “You think? Shit, Doc! I thought you’d done this!”

“Well, not exactly,” David hedged. “But I’ve heard about it. And there’s sure enough cars here Sunday afternoons all summer and people jumpin’ off this ledge all day – how dangerous can it be? Besides, I thought you said you did this kinda jump with Jack.”

“Yeah, well, we was in our early twenties then.”

“Weren’t we all…. You don’t wanna go first?”

Ennis hated his own hesitancy but didn’t like the prospect of plunging off the ledge much better, and retreating to take the side path down to the pool was not to be thought of. “How do you know how deep it is?” 

“I don’t. But people jump off of here all the time.”

“I dunno about this,” Ennis hedged.

“You know you want to.”

Something both challenging and teasing in David's voice made Ennis look over and catch the other man's smile. You bet your ass I want to followed his initial annoyance and exasperation, and in the next second by a hectic rush of energy that almost propelled him toward David instead of the ledge. What he’d felt while flinging off his clothes on another rock ledge so many years ago was more than a memory now, as he realized that this was the closest they’d been to being naked with each other. In the next instant, his feet carried him the last few yards to the edge of the bluff and he felt the muscles of his right leg flex powerfully as he pushed himself as far out from the rocks as possible and flung himself into the air.

The sensation of falling didn't last as long as he would have thought. Plunging into the pool was not like diving into the Lake’s icy lucidness but was rather a descent into a mysterious emerald chamber illuminated by shafts and spangles of reflected light. The surface looked like a rippling mirror, tiny and far-off; and as his feet touched the rocky floor of the pool he pushed back hard and shot quickly up to the surface. His head was now on a level with the ground and for a few moments the trees, sunlight and sky seemed to form swirling columns of green, gold and blue above his head. He'd swum about halfway to the bank when he heard a yell, something plummeted out of the sky and David disappeared under the water's surface only a few feet away from him.

The air seemed to grow quieter as Ennis stared at the widening ripples where David had disappeared, and as several seconds dragged by a catalogue of disasters ran through his mind. Hit his head on a rock and he’s knocked out underwater – no, hurt his back when he’d hit the water, couldn’t swim to the surface, -- Jesus H., maybe he landed under the waterfall, slammed him back against the rocks – his catastrophic speculations were abruptly cut short when he felt something grasp him by one foot from behind. With a half-yelp he yanked his foot free and did a thrashing about-face in the water as David exploded to the surface next to him, gasping and laughing.

“Godalmighty, Ennis, you almost kicked me right in the face! Whatja think grabbed you -- Jaws?” Ennis, still spluttering, grabbed at him but David eluded him easily and started swimming back toward the waterfall. “ ‘Shark! Shark in the pond!’ “ he quoted, intoning the movie’s two-tone theme: “ BUM-bum BUM-bum BUM-bum….. “ His arms swung in a wide arc above his head, reaching and pulling the churning water back as he swam and Ennis, neither alarmed nor angry now, caught up with him quickly and turned him around so they were facing each other.

Their momentum had carried them half underneath the waterfall, the spray scraping against Ennis' back and forming a silvery veil over them. After the weeks of being close to each other, both of them watching each other, finally, that odd wariness and hesitation he’d sensed in David gone for the moment. David’s shoulders were pressed against an outcrop of rock and Ennis felt another man’s chest against his, felt their cold-hardened nipples touching through the soaked fabric, at last, his body told him, and feels right.

David’s arms slid under his as Ennis’ mouth traveled up his neck and chin and then his hand slid around the back of David’s neck. The first thing he felt against his lips was the cool water that his mouth nuzzled as if he was thirsty; then a roughness of beard stubble and the warmth of the skin beneath it. The warmth of his mouth against David's, and the water beading both their faces and slipping over their tongues as their lips parted, formed the middle ground between the tearing force of the cold water rushing over them and the urgent heat of both their bodies.

He hooked his left knee around David’s right one and pulled David toward him, as his tongue imperiously explored first the inside of the other man’s lips and then brushed over the ridges of the even teeth, lightly flicking against his tongue. David gasped, and Ennis felt their breath mingling. He did not pull away but Ennis felt the muscles in his back tense and his body straighten slightly and in the same moment they heard a car door slam, seemingly right above them.

The old fear, which had not always been without foundation, gripped him and he expected to see angry or shocked or condemning faces glowering down off the ledge at them. “Don’t worry,” David whispered, shakily. “They’re parked a ways up,” and he was right. They were hearing voices on the narrow dirt trail now, men and women, carelessly chattering on this warm Friday afternoon. They sat on the larger rocks on the shore near the waterfall, drying off and watching the four newcomers gather up on the ledge: none of them much over twenty and all of them, like Ennis and David, wearing swimming clothes improvised from shorts, shirts and cut-off jeans. The two young men, obviously conscious of their female companions watching them, argued over who would jump first.

By the time they got back to the car, their clothes were no longer dripping but still wet. “We’ll be walkin in ta Grandma’s with wet hair,” Ennis said. “What’ll they think?”

“Prob’ly they’ll be impressed when I tell em we went swimming at the Deeps,” David answered, sitting on the edge of the back seat as he pulled up his jeans. “But guess what, I don’t have any dry underwear. If I wear those wet boxers, I might end up lookin like I didn’t find the men’s room on time so I’ll just hafta go without. You better be damn sure ‘n’ warn me if ya see my fly open.”

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll sure do that.”


	26. Chapter 26

Canal Park was just across the Aerial Bridge, as was Grandma’s Saloon; which stood close enough to it for patrons sitting at a window to read the names of the larger boats passing by. Much of the old industrial neighborhood matched Ennis’ vague growing-up impressions of big cities: dank and neglected streets lined with buildings not designed for beauty when new and now surrounded by litter and fragments of brick, mortar and broken glass, with the blind look that buildings with empty or boarded-up windows always have. But on other streets David had pointed out signs of recovery: roofs and windows being replaced, a few new-looking signs on formerly anonymous buildings, a row of flower pots in an open second-floor window, their bright red flowers like ribbons in the hair of a convalescent. “It’s gonna be a good neighborhood one day,” David had said. “When I first moved here, you coulda built a whole fleet of cars outta parts from all the junked ones lying around.”

Ennis had dropped Maggie off at Grandma’s Saloon a few times but had never gone in, and was immediately smacked with an arresting chorus of noise and scents: the rattling of dishes and cutlery, a vaguely musical tinkling of glasses, scents of frying meat, hot bread and onions and a rising and falling cacophony of human voices in full Friday-afternoon form. 

The combination bar and dining room reminded him somewhat of the artful clutter in Maggie’s apartment, with things hung up as decorations that seemed outlandishly out of place. Wooden rolling pins, ladles, wooden spoons, even parts of an old meat grinder hung from one wall while another was covered with framed newspaper articles, yellowish and gray photographs of men with handlebar mustaches and corseted women with stiffly coiffed hair, and old advertisements proclaiming the virtues of Satin Skin Cream, Badger Pure Barley Malt Extract and Emilia Garcia Havana cigars. Several naked and oddly quizzical-looking dolls perched at the edge of the suspended platform over the bar, flanked by old chairs, a butter churn and an old yarn winding wheel.

Maggie hurried up to them as soon as they entered. “Hey, Doctor D, over here!” Like the other workers she was dressed in jeans and tee shirt, and with the addition of a pair of colorful suspenders. She led them over to a table near the bank of windows overlooking the Aerial Bridge, “You remember Sam,” she said, setting a bottle of beer in front of him. Ennis greeted him with ”Evenin,” getting an amiable grunt in reply, and David introduced the other man at the table as Jeff Friedman, the tenant who leased out the back of the store for snowmobile repairs. In his late 20s, Jeff was the exact physical opposite from Sam: somewhat shorter and with unruly dark hair that curled around a face with a broad nose and sharp features. 

David pulled out his chair with an emphatic thump and pretended to collapse into it. “It’s been a long day, Maggie, we’re hungry. What’ll you have, Ennis?”

“Whatever you’re havin ‘ll be okay.”

“Two Godfathers then, and a few bottles of Bud.” He turned toward Jeff. “So, how’re you takin up your time now summer’s here?”

“Got some work ‘way up the shore, close to Grand Marais,” Jeff answered. “Buddy of mine got me a part-time job with his old man, they repair jetskis, an’ some ATVs too. This is the first I’ve been down here in a month.”

“Yeah?” The pitch of David’s voice slid upward. “You’re still around tomorrow, stop by the store.”

“Actually I did, about an hour ago. Kelly was just lockin’ up, she said you’d left early. And a guy showed up right after I did – said his name was Vic. He was a little surprised you weren’t there.”

David looked startled. “Vic? That’s my silent partner in Des Moines, owns about one-fourth interest. He’d said he’d be in town next week.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that, said somethin else came up for next week. Kelly told us you’d be headin’ over here, he said he’d catch you later. The store’s in good shape,” Jeff added. “You got it organized good, lotsa new stock too.” 

David glanced over toward Ennis and smiled. “Well, I got good help this year.”

“You’ll see plenty of me in August ‘n’ September – that’s when snowmobilers start to make plans,” Jeff commented to Ennis. “Around here, the winters are so long ‘n’ cold a lotta people just figure they can’t beat it so they might as well get out ‘n’ join it. But David told me you’re from Wyoming,” he added. “You must get some winter tourists.” Ennis nodded without commenting. He’d long been mystified at the annual migration of people to places like Jackson Hole, eager for frostbite and the annual addition to their collections of broken bones.

“Reinforcements!” Maggie set down two bottles and pushed a basket of chips and two smaller bowls of “Top The Tater” dip toward the center of the table. “You came in at just the right time, my break just started.” She sat down next to Sam and beamed at Ennis in a way that made him think fleetingly of a fond aunt. “Ennis is already a real Minnesotan,” she told Jeff. “He’s been swimming in the Lake since last month. Didn’t think anything of it, and me ‘n’ Doctor D woulda thought he’d be wearing blocks of ice for shoes by the time he got in the house.” Jeff swallowed the latest mouthful of a large hamburger. “You goin swimming by yourself? Better be careful – Superior’s real bad for rip tides.”

“Already know about that,” Ennis answered, rather enjoying Maggie’s look of surprise. On his beach walks he’d become intrigued with the multicolored, water-polished pebbles locally referred to as “Lake Superior seashells,” filling up a tall glass he kept on the windowsill in his room. The contents glowing in early-morning light appealed to a nature that reacted to intense color in much the same way that many people react to music. He’d been standing in icy water halfway to his knees, scooping up pebbles in the transparent water and sorting through them to keep only the brightest ones when “this old guy came out yellin,” he told Jeff. “I thought he was mad ‘cause I was on his beach but he went on an’ on about swimming by myself. Started talkin about rip tides, told me ta stay outa the water if I saw smooth spots on waves.”

“That guy two doors down? Oh, that’s Mr. Bailey,” Maggie put in. “His wife was still alive when we moved here, we useta see her once in awhile. Me and Doctor D went to the funeral when she died, first time we’d ever spoken to him actually. Hardly ever seen him since then, he never was too friendly.” “Wasn’t friendly exactly,” was all Ennis answered, but he was feeling more at ease than he’d expected. The music, clothes and food were different than at the Black and Blue Eagle Bar but the clink and clatter of glasses, the tangled fragments of conversation lurching around them and the atmosphere of nervous conviviality were the same.

“Dave says you’ve always worked on ranches,” Jeff commented. “Do ya miss it? This must be quite a change for ya.”

“Well, it’s hard work, ain’t always like the movies. Sometimes I gotta spend a whole afternoon doin things like castratin calves.” The grimaces this produced from Maggie and Jeff, though not Sam, were comically identical to the look on Cassie’s face when she’d waylaid him with ‘so, Ennis del Mar, what do you do?’ “But yeah, I miss bein outdoors, and I miss my horses.”

“You got your own horses?”

“I rode one of ‘em. Sincie and Ace, right, Ennis?” David put in. Ennis only nodded but was a little surprised that David had saved this small detail.

“Well,” Sam offered. “My work takes me up to Clover Valley sometimes. That’s part of Duluth, northeast part of town, but it’s still pretty country, most of their roads up there aren’t even paved yet. I know at least one place where they got stables, I can see if they’ll rent you a couple.”

Ennis felt a slight disquiet at the casual assumption that he and David did everything together, but Sam’s mention of his work made him remember something he was still wondering about. “Say, you know if there’s any kinda wild cats near the beach?”

“Minnesota Point, you mean? We get calls about bobcats every once in awhile, you seeing ‘em out there?”

“Little bigger’n a bobcat.” Ennis described what he’d seen on the Park Point trail, and Sam thought for a moment, looking puzzled. “Say you saw a tag on it?”

“Can’t be sure, it looked like somethin metal. Brass, maybe, or copper.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll see if I c’n find out. Don’t know of anyplace around here usin pet tags like that, they’re usually plain old aluminum.”

“Maybe somebody was keepin’ a wild animal, like a lynx and it got loose,” Jeff suggested. “No matter what it is, there’s always some damfool who’ll buy it.”

Feeling her eyes on him, Ennis glanced up at Maggie and wondered why she was looking at him with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Seeing him looking back at her, she smiled briefly and looked away; and he would have wondered about her reaction if a new voice nearby hadn’t called “David! Andrea told me you’d be here.”

David got up and shook hands with the man who’d just joined them. “Sorry I missed ya, Vic.” He glanced quickly around the table, giving Ennis an almost-imperceptible smile, and for a brief but unmistakable moment Ennis felt as if he’d been brought home to meet the family. “You know Maggie an’ Jeff, he just said he saw you at the store… and this here’s Sam Madsen, he’s a friend of Maggie’s. This is Vic Broncato, Ennis – he’s the silent partner I told ya about.”

Vic was a large man, still solid and muscular although with the kind of build that would descend into fat in a few years. But he was still good-looking enough for a few women at nearby tables to notice him as he passed: dark hair that was still thick, though slowly retreating in two estuaries on either side of his forehead. His broad nose and jaw, and prominent pale blue eyes, defined a face whose features were just oversized enough to give him a slightly pugnacious look. He pulled out a chair with an emphatic scrape and sat down across from Ennis. 

“You haven’t been up here in awhile, let me get you a drink – still with bourbon an soda?” He was standing beside the back of Vic’s chair, leaning over just enough to look at the other man directly. It was the kind of smooth movement Ennis was now used to seeing, suddenly in the role of attentive host and managing to give the impression that the newcomer’s getting the right drink was of utmost importance at the moment but without a touch of servility. The dancing shoes were back on, despite the damp spots on his shirt and his still-ruffled hair. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for, Doctor D,” Maggie protested, without making a move to get up. David waved her back, pretending that she had. “You’re on your break, Maggie, make the most of it.”

Vic glanced at David’s half-finished bottle of beer. “David being from the South, you’d think I’d ‘ve converted him to bourbon by now,” he said affably. “Um,” Ennis answered, “Doc likes beer better’n whiskey. An wine better’n beer.”

Vic looked at Ennis a little too long, eyes narrowing just slightly before they flickered downward from the other man’s face and back up again in a quick, appraising look. It was not a leering glance and even less a seductive one; and Ennis wasn’t sure what startled him more: the implication in the other man’s look or the fact it didn’t surprise him more than it did.

“I stopped by Andrea’s office, she was busy with a client but she said she might come by too. Had you met her?”

“No, but Doc told me about her, lawyer or somethin’.”

“That’s right,” Maggie put in. “She helped with all that paperwork stuff with the house, and the business too.”

“We go back a long way,” Vic continued. “I’ve lived in Des Moines a long time but I useta know her in Minneapolis years ago, I had a job with an engineering company there before I started my own business.”

“Water management,” Maggie remarked to Sam. “Get him talkin’ shop and you won’t understand one in ten words.”

Vic glanced out toward the Lake, and Ennis noticed a number of grayish clouds that had moved onto the horizon since they’d arrived at the restaurant. “Hard to imagine living here, but we’re gonna be hearing about water shortages more and more. I don’t expect to be hurting for business. Sorry I missed you and Dave but I’ll be by the store tomorrow.”

Ennis knew that Vic had put up much of the money for the store and the improvements David had made to it. “We’d been real busy lately, but things got quiet this afternoon so Doc figured we’d take a break. Been short a help too, with Jonathan out sick.”

Vic’s mouth twitched in a distasteful expression. “Well, I don’t envy you, havin to put up with that flamer every day. Can’t stand to be around him.”

Ennis wondered for a moment if his earlier impression had been illusory. “Hunh? He makes me mad sometimes.” Damn it, Jonathan, don’t call me ‘honey’…. “But Doc told me he’s had a pretty hard time of it, even his folks beat him up bad.” 

Vic’s shoulders and eyebrows both went up slightly. “Well, that isn’t surprising is it? Dave told me you grew up on a ranch, I didn’t but my grandparents, my mom’s folks, they had a farm down in Missouri. So I know even animals cull out the weak ones in the litter, and I’ll bet you saw your dad drown more than one litter of kittens. Don’t get me wrong,” he added hastily, glancing toward the others. “I’m not for beatin’ up on anybody. But if men don’t act like men, what can you expect?”

Ennis thought of Jack, a man who acted like a man, and wondered what Vic would have said about his last hour of life. Another memory almost surfaced before being yanked back below the horizon: an unforgiving wall against his back, water dripping from a ceiling that wasn’t water and wasn’t coming from the ceiling but his own sweat trickling down his back; a split-second glimpse of something swinging in a punishing arc toward him: a belt, a fragment of a board or just a broad calloused hand: I don’t think you heard too good…. He almost saw a white flash in front of his eyes, like the reflection of an explosion, and the same kind of fearless anger at the other man’s casual, dismissive tone. It was the same feeling he’d had in the Black and Blue Eagle Bar, but in this setting trying to punch Vic out was not an option; and this seized his attention fully enough that he jumped when he heard David’s voice behind him.

“Jonathan is a good worker, Vic.” Resuming his seat, David slid a glassful of pale amber liquid and jostling ice cubes across the table. He didn’t sound angry but his voice had a flat, just-business tone that Ennis had heard him use a few times when dealing with irrationally quarrelsome customers. “I sent you one o’ my quarterly reports just last week, I don’t think you’ve got any cause for complaint.”

Vic raised both his hands slightly, palm out. “No complaints, Dave. From what I saw this afternoon the store’s in good shape, and who you hire is your business.” He gave Ennis the same just-between-us smile and dropped his voice slightly. “It’s just that guys like that – well, they do make it harder for the rest of us.” He was leaning forward slightly, nodding for emphasis and there was no physical resemblance to any of them but Joe Aguirre, Jack’s father and his own flitted through Ennis’ mind. _So queers have their stud ducks too._


	27. Gift of Exile

“No more o’ that now,” David warned, glancing toward the door. Ennis followed his glance and saw two women heading toward the table. One of them, a stocky blonde woman about five years older than Ennis, looked like someone’s determinedly youthful grandmother dressed for a business lunch in a knit suit whose shoulder pads suggested that her undergarments included a bookshelf or two. She was accompanied by a nervous-looking woman in her thirties who seemed, to Ennis’ eyes, to be dressed for a gym class in a leotard, close-fitting pants that ended just below her knees and leg warmers, which Ennis would have thought were socks she’d neglected to pull up if he hadn’t seen Jenny wearing them.

“Andrea!” Maggie’s face broke into a smile, and she hurried to pull out two chairs next to Vic. “I haven’t seen you so long, this is lookin’ like a class reunion…. get you a glass of wine to start out with?” “Just a Diet Coke for me,” the blonde woman answered. “I’ve got a lot of work to finish tonight and a big project tomorrow.” “Same here,” her companion nodded to Maggie. Everyone except Ennis and Jeff had met Andrea, who introduced the other woman as “my client, Patricia Long.” Patricia’s polite smile broadened when Ennis nodded and said “Ma’am”; and Andrea extended a hand across the table, saying “well Ennis, I’m so glad to be meeting you!” 

Everyone at the table, in fact, seemed to be glancing at him more often than he’d expect and listening to anything he said with particular interest. While it seemed to be friendly attention he still felt uneasy for a moment; nor did he see any connection between the appreciative looks that both Vic and Patricia had given him. David’s foot had been lodged against his own and now he moved it slightly so that their knees were touching as well. Ennis looked up at David’s questioning expression and there was a silent exchange: _okay now, bro? Sure Doc, don’t worry._

Maggie returned with the drinks as well as the two “Godfather” sandwiches, thick, oblong rolls stuffed with thinly-sliced beef; heaped mounds of French fries, bowls of the chive-and-sour-cream “Top the Tater” dip that was obligatory in Duluth eateries and two smaller bowls of thin sauce. “For dippin’,” she explained to Ennis putting a stack of extra napkins in front of them, and resumed her seat next to Sam. “We’re gettin’ busy, I’m just gonna finish this tea an’ then it’s back on the floor for good. You gonna stay, hon?” “Sure. Few minutes anyway,” Sam answered.

“So Andrea, tell ‘em how you plan to go fight City Hall again,” Vic said. She launched into a story that Ennis, intent on the first food he’d eaten since early that morning, only half listened to. “Developers found out that land got zoned for duplexes years and _years_ ago and the original owners in those little houses are dying off. So a couple of developers started watching the papers for obituaries –“

“They called us about my mom’s house, just a day after the funeral,” Patricia put in.

“-- and buyin’ those places up quick. Put up cheap duplexes and now the neighborhood’s got more traffic and renters always movin’ in and out – it isn’t good for the neighborhood and most of those houses have a lotta years left in ‘em. Yeah, I know you ‘can’t fight city hall’,” she added to Vic. “But sometimes you win and sometimes you get in some really good punches.”

David some French fries on a saucer and pushed it across the table to her. “Well, we can sure tell it keeps ya young, Andrea so I say go to it.”

She rolled her eyes and made a pretend grimace. “Oh not today, Dave – I don’t have my shovel with me.”

The general shout of laughter was interrupted by a waitress who should have reminded Ennis of Cassie, or at least a Cassie whose curves were perilously close to transforming into bulges. She had some of Cassie’s blonde prettiness with a wide, generous mouth, slightly almond-shaped eyes and sleek, slightly tanned skin and, Ennis noticed, both Jeff and Sam sat up a little straighter and paid close attention although neither was interested in ordering anything. She smiled at Maggie, but her eyes narrowed and Ennis noticed how sharp the small, even teeth looked. “Maggie, I didn’t know you were off today. Funny, you look like you’re dressed for work.”

Maggie made no move to get up, nor did she smile at the other woman. “I’m on break, Sandra. Been here since three this afternoon, did you forget?”

“ _I_ didn’t. And I didn’t know you took your breaks sitting with customers.” She took a quick look down the table and stopped at Ennis. “All the regulars at this table but I haven’t seen you here before. You another friend of Maggie’s?”

“Maggie’s and mine, Sandra. This is Ennis del Mar, he’s stayin’ with us and helpin’ me out at the store,” David answered.

Her mouth continued to smile but her eyes did not. Ennis’ sudden wariness had caused him to unconsciously turn toward her and her downward glance took in the worn jeans and the boot on the one foot that was visible. “Well, I do like a man who doesn’t pay much attention to fashion,” she said. “Finds a style he likes and sticks with it. I’ve sort of missed seeing that Urban Cowboy look, you must’ve bought that outfit when the movie first came out. It looks so…. _authentic_.” 

There was a very short, appalled silence and David started to speak, but Maggie was quicker. “Ennis just moved here from Wyoming, Sandy. He’s worked on ranches all his life.” She got up and gave Sam a last squeeze on the back of the neck. “Well, I’m back on the floor now, so everything’s – under control here.” Sandra gave her a last glare, not bothering this time to cover it with a smile, and walked away.

“She a supervisor or something?” Patricia asked.

“No. We call her a ‘stupervisor’ here,” Maggie answered, picking up her tray. “Takin’ the stool-pigeon route, or so she thinks.”

Ennis wasn’t listening. The fugitive good mood he’d felt a few minutes earlier was gone. Clothing was something he'd always put on in the morning and taken off at night with little additional thought; but now he was painfully aware of the worn soles of his boots, a few places on his shirt that were almost threadbare and the edge of one cuff that was frayed. Worse, he suddenly saw himself as a yokel, a foreigner from the high country exiled to the city, a scrawny coyote suddenly thrown in with a pack of sleek show dogs. 

He glanced over at Vic Broncato, his carefully barbered hair, dark brown polo shirt and khaki pants and a sweater inexplicably worn draped over his shoulders with sleeves loosely tied. In Ennis’ anxious imagination, David’s infrequent mentions of Vic took on a new, illusory meaning. David had spoken of Vic only as his “silent partner” and always in connection with the business, but Ennis felt the first stirrings of defensive anger as he wondered if they’d been partners in anything else. Vic’s sudden appearance now seemed less like a brief visit of a business acquaintance than a landlord newly arrived to evict a squatter from his property.

“Earth to Ennis… hey!” He felt David’s hand on his arm and saw the anxious questioning in the gray eyes, but it had been Andrea trying to get his attention. “’Ennis’, that’s an unusual name,” she commented. “Is it a family name?”

Oddly, he felt a little more at ease, as his mother had told him about his name enough times that he could recite from memory. "I was named for my great-grandfather, name a William Ennis,” he told her. “He had a ranch in Montana, started up a town that got called Ennis, I still got cousins up there but never met ‘em. One a William’s daughters, my great-aunt Jenny, she ran the postoffice there a long time. My mother was named after her, an' my younger girl, Jenny too." Her family, his mother had once told him, had little to no use for the del Mars; _now, don’t say anything ta your father_ , as if he wouldn’t already know.

“So you’re a _real_ cowboy.” Patricia’s voice had an awed sound to it, and once again, everyone seemed to be looking at him with special interest. “Sure is,” David told her. “Gave me some ridin’ lessons last summer.”

“Yeah. He’s pretty good on a horse,” was all Ennis said. The conversation continued to swirl and leapfrog about the table and he went back to the sandwich that seemed designed to drip crumbs and juice on him but he paid little attention to either. _Gave me some ridin’ lessons last summer_. . . . Being reminded of the two afternoons they’d spent together riding Ace and Sincie now made him recall David’s hesitancy during their horseback ride, and the incident at the Deeps this afternoon – his pulling away. He hadn’t moved nor tried to push Ennis away but Ennis had endured too many years of both unflagging desire and disheartening fear to not recognize the mixture immediately. 

Ennis had often relived their two afternoons of horseback riding, only a year ago but now seeming much longer than that, taking them out of his memory and turning them to examine all sides for every small detail; and those had included the moment on that shaded bank by the stream when their eyes had met – and how David had been the first to turn away and busy himself with adjusting Ace’s saddle. And less than an hour before, their sudden embrace under the waterfall -- had it been when they’d heard people walking up the road that David had pulled away or had it been a second or two before? But mingled with those recollections were David’s frequent and obviously interested looks, his gentle drawing out of reminiscences about Jack, and David’s evident eagerness for his company. 

He’d become as oblivious to the conversation at the table as if he were in another room and, hearing Andrea’s voice in an inflection that sounded like a question, he looked up and saw her looking his way. Not wanting to ignore any of these people who evidently played major roles in David’s life he answered, “uh, yeah.”

Her reaction, as well as David’s, told him he’d somehow blundered. David’s look was quizzical: “really, Ennis?” 

“Well, that’s really nice of you – I can pick you up, my son’s loaning me his van. About 9:30 tomorrow morning, is that okay?” 

Ennis gave David a fleeting look and paused, hoping someone would say something that would comprise a clue as to what he’d just agreed to. As none appeared he just nodded, and hoped David would suggest leaving before long. He was suddenly in a hurry to get home.


	28. Gift of Exile

At Duluth’s high latitude summer days were unusually long, and sundown was still a few hours away when David’s car crossed the Aerial Bridge. But the mist that had been hovering tentatively over the Lake all afternoon was starting to thicken into fog, making it seem later than it was. They didn’t speak, but the silent tension stretched the short space between them as tightly as invisible skin. Fortunately it was a short drive: a turn out of Grandma’s parking lot, across the bridge, and down Lake Avenue a few blocks.

As they crossed the Aerial Bridge he watched the flickering pickets of bars between them and the Lake and felt a inexplicable pulse of yearning and loss. The same feeling came back as they went up the outside stairs at the house and his right foot landed on a step whose creaking plank he’d replaced a few weeks before. He glanced at the windows and thought of how he’d carefully removed tacks and peeled off the winter plastic, tossing them to David at the bottom of the ladder and the unremarkable memories had an odd potency.

David didn’t speak until they were in the kitchen but Ennis wasn’t surprised at his words when he did. “Okay,” he began. “I don’t mind your takin a day off and I know you’re due one – but what made you volunteer outta the blue like that?”

There was no way out. “Doc – I don’t know what I said I’d do. I mean, I was thinkin about somethin else and then I saw her lookin at me – she seemed ta be expectin me ta say something. So I just said yeah, okay.”

David’s eyes widened and he started to laugh. “I never figured you for a daydreamer, bro.”

“Damn it, don’t string me along – what’d I say I’d do?”

“Oh, you didn’t get yourself into anything bloodcurdling. Remember Andrea and Patricia – you know, her client, the lady who was with her – they were talkin about how they’re tryin to get the zoning changed in Patricia’s neighborhood? Andrea was assistant to one of the lawyers involved in a big to-do over where I-35 was goin through Duluth back in the 70s so she knows her way around City Hall, that’s why Patricia hired her. Well, they got a hearing with some of the city bureaucrats next week, one o’ their commissions, and those folks don’t listen to regular people unless a whole mob of ‘em show up. Otherwise, they do pretty much whatever developers tell them.”

Ennis had a brief but apocalyptic vision of being called on to make a speech. “What’s that got ta do with me?”

“They made a lotta phone calls to people in the neighborhood, got ‘em to agree to have signs put up in their yards about the hearing. Not that big a neighborhood but still, they’ve got about 40 signs and they’re plannin to knock on people’s doors and give them a pamphlet they had printed up. That means hauling the signs around in Andrea’s son’s van, getting in and out every few houses – it’ll just take a lot less time if they have a driver and Andrea was lookin for volunteers.”

“Hunh. Well – I could do that, I guess.”

“It’s still early, I can play the heavy if you want,” David offered. “I can call Andrea and tell her I really need you at the store tomorrow.”

Ennis shook his head. “No, I did say I’d do it, don’t like ta go back on that. Unless you are gonna need me there tomorrow.”

“No, I can manage, Jonathan won’t be back till Tuesday but Kelly’ll be in. But I’m kinda sorry you won’t be there,” he added. “When we were on our way out, Vic stopped me and said he’d stop by to visit tomorrow around lunchtime. I told him I couldn’t leave the store but we could have lunch in the back. And I was hoping you’d be there.”

On their way out of Grandma’s Ennis had suddenly realized David wasn’t behind him and he’d looked back to see David and Vic exchanging a few quiet remarks before David left the table and caught up with him. Now the thought of David and Vic alone with each other caused the barely-acknowledged tensions pinballing about his mind – excitement from their encounter at the Deeps, anxiety, resentment, defensiveness and the sudden fear of loss that had engulfed him on their way into the house – to collide in a jolt of anger and jealousy. 

He took a step toward David, who saw for the first time an instant transformation in his face that would have been familiar to either Jack or Alma: jaw muscles tensed enough to be visible as ripples on the lower sides of his face, lips drawn in enough to resemble twin creases and eyes narrowed into the shapes of tiny twin hatchets. He took a few steps toward David, glaring directly into his face. “So what’d you want me there for, hunh? Wouldn’t I just get in your way?”

David looked startled but stood his ground. “Me ‘n’ Vic have never been anything but business partners, and he isn’t directly involved with the store at that. We’re just meetin’ to talk about Jeff – you remember him sayin’ he’d got some work repairing jetskis and ATV’s? Well, we’ve been using that back section as storage space part of the year; I wanna see if we can get him interested in setting up a full-time repair shop there. That’s the kinda thing me and Vic are involved in. Now, why’d you think I’d rather spend time with Vic than with you?”

While he felt slightly foolish, the memory of Sandy’s acridly dismissive remarks slotted in next to an image of Vic sitting across the table from him: confident, sure of himself, wearing clothes that showed no signs of wear and fitted him down to the last stitch; and David’s hesitancy at the Deeps earlier suddenly seemed to make sense. “Why not? He – talks ‘n’. . . . looks better’n me.”

_Damn, that was brilliant_ but David seemed to hear what was beneath the stumbling words. 

“I’ve got no complaints about either,” he said. “I know you’re not a talker – if I’d somehow managed to not notice that in Wyoming, I should woulda when I was callin’ you all those months. So what? Doesn’t bother me, an’ I didn’t think it’d bothered you till just now. As for his lookin’ better – that got anything to do with what Sandy said?”

Ennis thought of the men who’d come around Scrope’s ranch in the month before he’d gotten a final check and a promise for a recommendation: identical as sleek pigeons in business suits and highly-polished shoes that proclaimed wearers who had both time and funds to be preoccupied with clothes that fit perfectly and whose components all matched, driving rental cars as polished and indistinguishable from each other as their drivers: sharp-eyed men who looked at the land people had worked for generations as if it were a hastily-prepared meal to be eaten and excreted with little thought a few days later. Though they were dressed more formally and there were few women among them, they seemed close neighbors to the passing tourists who occasionally showed up for lunch at the Knife and Fork, glancing toward various regular customers and smiling at each other as if they were making a brief vacation stop at a roadside petting zoo. Both the businessmen and the tourists largely ignored him as someone living in a different and invisible dimension but as long as they were nearby his feet suddenly felt too big, his hands more calloused than they actually were. But these had been intruding visitors, outsiders who’d soon moved on; and he couldn’t think of a way to explain to David what it had felt like to brush against that world unexpectedly and be painfully reminded of how much an outsider he now was.

“I should’ve explained about Sandy as soon as we got outside,” David went on. “Nobody thought any less of you because ’ve what she said – hell, it would’ve been the other way around if she’d seemed to like you. I don’t know exactly what makes Sandy tick but the only friends she’s got are people she’s suckin’ up to and people who ‘re suckin’ up to _her_. I wanted to smack her and tell her to take a hike but so long as she’s workin’ at Grandma’s she can make things damned unpleasant for Maggie. People like that specialize in spreadin’ it around. . . . I’m sorry you didn’t have a better time today, I was afraid of that. I wish we’d been able to stay at the Deeps longer.”

“Afraid a what?” This was the first time Ennis had heard David refer to being afraid of anything.

“I know you got a return plane ticket for August. Neither of us ‘ve mentioned it but that doesn’t mean I’ve not been thinking about it – I’ve been wondering all along how long you’d wanna stay here. You think I don’t know how hard it was for you to pick up an’ leave like you did? After you’d told me you’d never lived anyplace but Wyoming? I moved from Dixie to a place that calls itself ‘the air-conditioned city,’ for God’s sake! And at that, I had Maggie here and I’d known her for years.”

The plane ticket, tucked away upstairs and untouched, had occasionally chafed in Ennis’ thoughts. “Yeah, I gotta ticket back. You want me ta go?”

“No way, bro. I know I oughta do the noble thing and say just do what’s best for you, and I know it won’t be any good if you stay here and you’re miserable. But. . . I love having you here. I just like _being_ with you, we don’t hafta being doin’ or talkin’ about anything in particular…. Even when you first got here an’ slept for two days, and even that first day when you were settlin’ in here I had to go to work – I thought all day just about you being here when I got back. That and when we were goin’ riding back in Wyoming, I hadn’t looked forward to goin’ anywhere or doin’ anything for the longest time.” The bluish-gray eyes looked into Ennis’ brown ones steadily. “I’m not gonna claim that I haven’t wanted more than that, but it’s a lot more’n I expected to have when Gramma Alex called and told me she was getting me an invite to that wedding.” 

It had been only a few hours since their outing that afternoon: clowning and chasing each other in the pool beneath the waterfall and a few minutes later, the length of David’s body next to his and David’s breath on his lips with the veil of water cascading over them; and a year ago – the excitement that had reverberated in him for days after those few electric moments during their horseback ride. Before he knew it he’d closed the space between them, slipping one hand behind David’s back to pull him forward and seizing the other man’s jaw and chin with the other. The desire he’d felt under the waterfall, briefly forgotten over the past few hours came back with sudden vehemence fueled by the past year’s simmering, never-quite-acknowledged attraction and he pressed David’s mouth roughly to his own.

He felt the other man’s lips part as his other hand traveled downward and pulled at David’s shirt, first thing it landed on, yanking it out of the waistband of his jeans so it could slide up David’s chest, hairier than Jack’s but he’d already noticed that. His fingers found one nipple and he felt David’s hurried staccato breath inside his mouth. 

His head was spinning and he felt the delicious tightness in his loins that had just started gathering itself in the cold water earlier that day, picking up where it had left off. At the same time he pulled his mouth away briefly to catch a breath, his hand let go of David’s jaw, traveled downward to below his belly – and stopped. 

He felt no answering heat, no rounded hardness filling the cup of his hand, only cloth and the outlines of the flaccid flesh underneath. 

“What…..?” he said, more in surprise than anything else, a second before David backed away, face reddening with anguish and humiliation. Again, he wondered if he’d misunderstood after all. “Doc…. What’s the matter?”

David only shook his head, his eyes not meeting Ennis’ but seeming to stare at a despairing vision of their own. “Ennis, I – I gotta be alone for awhile, okay?” Without another word or look, he turned and left the room and Ennis listened to his footsteps withdrawing down the hall before the door to the outside stairway opened and closed.

Ennis stood for several minutes alone in the kitchen, listening to the inconsequential sounds around him: the clock on the wall ticking, refrigerator gurgling and humming, the distant sounds of traffic outside. In his confusion and uncertainty about what to do next, they seemed much louder than they were. He recalled now the frequent moments in the past few months when he and David had touched briefly or met each others’ eyes, moments when their mutual attraction had formed a closed circuit, and how some internal fuse had seemed to trip and make David look away, move slightly or change the subject. The dawning of what this had meant seemed to silence and block out everything around him.

Now he was hearing the threshing sound of the old motor in his truck, driving away from a campsite with the horse trailer rattling behind him and forcing himself to not look back at Jack, still standing near his own truck. He’d known that the mixture of misery, anger and resignation he’d undoubtedly see in Jack’s face would make him turn around and he’d been determined to get as far away as possible from the view outside the doors that last fight with Jack had opened. 

There was no undoing it. He knew that he and Jack had a future in the mysterious world beyond where Jack now lived. But the life they could have had, the life he’d rejected, would remain a might-have-been to the end of time. The cabin at Lightning Flat would remain unbuilt.

It wasn’t going to happen again.


	29. Gift of Exile

At the bottom of the outside staircase Ennis scanned the shoreline and Lake uneasily, thinking how cold the water was even in June and how quickly it could overcome a swimmer deliberately putting the shoreline behind him. Seeing nothing out of place off the beach was only slightly reassuring, as the fog had moved closer and now appeared as drapes of cobwebs here and there in the city across the water. 

In more than one Wyoming winter he’d dealt with white-outs in heavy snows; but the eerie selectivity of the fog that frequently rolled in from the Lake was something he’d had to get used to. On one early morning walk he’d noticed how unusually still the Lake was, looking like a dark blue mirror; and when he and David had driven across the Lift Bridge a few hours later it had been at an unusually slow speed due to the rising mists that reduced visibility to a few yards. “Got something to show ya bro,” David had said unexpectedly. “Not too far out of our way,” and detoured back to a part of Skyline Drive that usually looked out over the shoreline and Aerial Bridge. The drifting fog a few hours earlier had become a thick marshmallow cloud that totally swallowed up the Lake, shoreline and Park Point with only the top of the bridge visible. 

Ennis knew now that before long, the only way to find his way around on the beach would be to walk at the edge of the water, and the thought of searching for David through this gray desolation produced a slight jab of panic.

But at the foot of the steps to the beach, he saw that David hadn’t gone very far. He was sitting at the edge of their part of the beach, on the same beached log that was Ennis’ favorite place to watch the sunrise, chin and folded arms resting on his knees. Along with the log, the mists and the grayish-green water lapping at the shoreline, he looked faded and depleted, and his face was expressionless as he watched Ennis approach. Ennis half expected a rebuff, but sat down next to him and gave him a few side glances. 

“I sit down here mornings sometimes,” he said finally.

“I know. You love the Lake, don’t you?” David’s voice was a little steadier, and he didn’t move away.

The fog hadn’t yet become dense enough that Ennis couldn’t see the house over David’s shoulder. “There’s a lotta things here…. livin here…. I like.”

David sighed. “I’m sorry, Ennis, I wasn’t tryin to cheat you. I really thought this was over. . . . well, I guess I _wanted_ to think it was over. Ever happened to you?”

“Well….” In the past five years it had taken him and Jack longer to get going, especially when Jack was sore and rusty from the long drive. “Slowed down some, I guess.”

David nodded, as if that had confirmed something. “For me…. it was after Nathan died, a few months after. And not just once. After two or three times -- well, it got tougher and tougher to tell myself it’s just temporary, it’ll be different next time. And it seemed like a kind of… retribution, too, or a verdict. So I just kinda shut down. For a long time after that moving here, getting the house, settin up the business, that pretty much filled up all the time.” He’d drawn up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, making himself tight and small. “I know I never told you how Nathan died.”

Ennis was oddly unsurprised that David had taken this particular turn. “Nah, you didn’t. I – wondered about it.” He’d already told David, as briefly as possible, about the ordeal of his phone call to Lureen and his own suspicions. 

“He did it himself. Parked his car in an old garage, put the door down and ran the engine.” David looked directly into Ennis’ face, as if looking for a reaction he wanted to get over with. “I dunno if anybody close to you ever did anything like that. But I c’n tell ya, it’s like somebody settin fire to their own house and a couple ‘f others catch fire and even if they don’t burn down there’s scorched places and you can always smell the smoke. I’d like to think Nathan wouldn’t ‘ve done it if he’d understood that, but I’ll never know. There’s so much I’ll never know about how it went – just a big question mark I don’t know what to do with. But I guess I’m startin out backwards.”

To a casual observer, both men were staring absently out at the Lake and the gauze sheets of mist that were now drifting along the city’s shoreline, but both could feel a tether of regretted recollections tightening between them. David sat in silence for a few more minutes, gathering them up.

“Sometimes,” he began, “I wonder everything would have turned out different if it hadn’t been for that plane crash. By the time it happened, wantin’ everybody to think he was perfect already had Nathan hooked. And bein gay, lovin another man, well, that just didn’t fit in. Maybe if it stayed like it was in the beginning – good friends who saw each other a lot – instead of our growing up in the same house, he coulda worked around that. Or maybe we woulda drifted apart as we grew up, but I don’t believe that. Both of us, we never talked about it much but we both felt like we’d always been together, not just born on the same day. 

“Not that I wasn’t happy about him comin to live with us, but it was rough that first year. Like I told ya before, Tom and Sheila getting killed hit both my parents hard. My mom went back and forth between talking about it all the time and then hushin’ up because she didn’t want to make things worse for Nathan. And my daddy, he was always the quieter of the two but he just seemed to shrink into himself after that, started workin’ longer hours, listened a lot to old music from the ‘40s, when he and mom were young. And that was when he started to take us camping more regular – it was just a few times when Dean and me were younger but after that it was once or twice a summer.

“But by that second summer, 1963, things had settled down and Nathan ‘d been in my class in school a whole year, already getting into junior varsity stuff. Of course, I was still workin’ in my dad’s hardware store so we didn’t always see each other much after school – but we made up for that. Weekends, summers. And nighttime, too. We spent a lotta time on odd places – there was this soul food place run by a lady everybody called Mama Louise, and we’d go over to the Indian mounds down at the river and climb up on the biggest one – you could just feel that old energy, it was like sittin on a giant battery. And more’n once we left a note for my folks, got on a bus and went to concerts at the old Municipal Auditorium in Atlanta. Saw a lotta famous people, James Brown was both our favorite. 

“But our favorite place was Rose Hill Cemetery. It’s pretty old, goes back to 1840, and they intended it to be both a cemetery and a city park. Sounds weird I know, but it sorta was that, still is as far as I know. You’d see people jogging there, walkin their dogs, and it was always a hangout for teenagers, college kids too.” 

_At the heart of Rose Hill was a steep ravine that sloped down to the Ocmulgee River. Here the land tilted so sharply that most of the plots were on terraces backed by retaining walls, chopping up the ravine into mini-homesteads for the dead. While the flatter area to the south was sterile and orderly, and oddly shadowless on sunny days, the ravine was a lush riot of long-ago-planted shrubs, flowers and ornamental trees among brick walls, stone slabs, obelisks, statues often darkened and disfigured by time, weather and vandalism, and a few hillside vaults that could have served well for an Easter sunrise service or the set for the final scene of “Romeo and Juliet”. There were even grave slabs with headstones resembling tidily made beds, where young couples often lay in life-affirming passion over the indifferent dead. In the spring, flowers originally planted in tidy rows and borders spread over large areas, adding to the vigorous proliferation of life above-ground. The exception were the irises: purples and yellows long ago but now cross-bred enough years to turn them white: not cream nor ivory but a grayish, ghostly tint; like a scattered garden planted by the cemetery’s residents._

“We’d been there before, ‘ve course, but spring of that second year we started sneakin outta the house at night to go there. It started out as a dare – Nathan bet me I wouldn’t go to a cemetery at night and I said if he wasn’t scared he’d go along. We got to know every foot of that place, even the Civil War graves and the old Jewish part with the Hebrew letters on the stones. Even in the daytime you had to watch your step walkin’ through the steep part, you never knew when you’d go around a bush or a big monument and step right off a ten-foot retaining wall. And we got to where we could find our way around at night. But our favorite part, we always went there at least once, was this one plot that had a dogwood tree planted in it. If you stood on the retaining wall, up on the plot above it, your head would be right in the top part of the tree. There was a railroad track that went by the back of the place, and we’d sometimes sit up there and listen to the trains go by.

“We’d been buddies as long as both of us could remember and I still think what happened that spring woulda happened somewhere else if it hadn’t been in Rose Hill. But lookin’ back on it, I still think it was right, it happening when ‘n’ where it did. There was something about it that was…. gonna happen no matter what. Like somethin’ we’d agreed to.”

_They were up on the ledge, surrounded by the umbrella of cream-colored, cross-shaped blooms on the dogwood tree. What took place might have happened in a different time and venue if the patterns of light and shadow hadn’t conspired to give their favorite refuge an unutterable strangeness that blotted out the rest of the world. The moon was full and halfway up in the sky, casting muted reflections on the river and filtering through the interlaced branches above and around their heads. The dappled patterns it would have formed if those branches had held only leaves were dimmed and diffused, though not completely cancelled out, by the reflection of the white blossoms; and in that eerie illumination they seemed to be in some indistinct borderland between light and shadow._

_As with all boys, their play had often taken the mock-heroic forms of punching and wrestling, but the sudden tussle that brought them both to the ground was now flavored by the clamoring hormones of two 15-year-olds. David’s recollection of that first joining was a panoply of feelings and images; the moist earth under his fingernails, the sound of Nathan’s gasping and his own outcry as a newly-experienced but somehow already-known jolt of tension and pleasure shot up through him, the sounds of crickets and nightbirds and a mournful train whistle in the far distance._

Their couplings expanded beyond Rose Hill, but in that one summer it was the place they returned to again and again. On some humid Southern nights they lay and wrestled together at both levels of the dogwood tree, beneath a statue of a stone angel and behind the underbrush next to the railroad track as trains went by.

 

By this time David had stretched out his legs a bit, resting his elbows on his knees. “Lookin back on it,” he said, “those summers we were in high school were our real life together, everything after that was just a blurry copy.”

( _to be continued_ )


	30. Gift of Exile

The fog was gradually thickening, white turning to whitish-gray as daylight retreated; but the hillside city across the water was still visible, with a few twinkles of electric lights appearing here and there. The Lake’s horizon was shrinking with the advancing bank of vapor and Ennis didn’t need a clock or watch to be aware of the gathering darkness behind it. Two large sailboats hurried toward the shoreline and a heavy-bodied laker was barely visible further out, obscured enough by the mist to look like a ghost ship. The temperature was falling too, but Ennis was prepared sit on the beach as long as it took. In a way, it was reassuring that David’s partiality to long stories hadn’t changed.

“But it was good for a long time,” David went on. “Like I told you before, we were buddies during high , but a little more’n that too. Everybody knew Nathan’s story – how we were born the same day, same hospital and our parents ‘d been friends since then, Nathan’s folks gettin’ killed in that plane crash. That hadn’t been but a few years and it was one of the worst on record back then. Everybody just thought of us as being like brothers, they just took it for granted that we went around together all the time. We did date girls, ‘ve course – this was the Sixties in Georgia, after all, if we hadn’t – well, even if people didn’t connect the dots neither of us would’ve had much of a social life.”

_The 1950s and early 1960s were the heyday, especially in the Deep South, of the virginal Nice Girl tease and the social gulf between her and the girl who was a “tramp” or “boy-crazy”. And, too, of young men brought up to know that one girl was to marry and the other was to verify one's sexual prowess with. The difference between the sex lives of nice girls and tramps was, more often than not, little more than a matter of a frustratingly few moments of penetration, with everything else designated as “petting.” The nice girls that David and Nathan dated had been admonished, by the same mothers who'd taught them to undress for bathing or bed without seeing their own naked bodies, that "it's up to the girl to set the limits" with young men. While they expected their dates to make passes to confirm their often counterfeit seductiveness, they tended to speak of both David and Nathan with fondness as boys who respected them._

_David and Nathan also frequently double-dated with "boy-crazy girls, and by their junior year had acquired the of intriguingly wild but ultimately desirable young men, each destined to become the marital reward of a nice girl who was willing to save herself for the Right Boy. They usually ended these dates early and if the girls, flattered at being asked out by the rich boy from Atlanta and his stepbrother, thought the games in the front and back seats of the car were quick and perfunctory, they rarely complained. As often as not they knew that their lack of nice-girl status would prevent them from being taken seriously._

“But that all had to end, people grow up. Off we both went to college, fall o’ 1965. Nathan’s family wasn’t too pleased when we both applied to the University of Georgia. They’d expected he’d go to a more ‘exclusive’ school, that was code for that rich white kids went to – or at least to Georgia Tech like his dad. But we hardly ever saw them; I think they kinda looked down their noses at my folks but none of ‘em had wanted to take on raising an extra kid when Tom and Sheila were killed, so they pretty much left well enough alone.

"And college was okay too. That was 1965 and it was simple then: you went to school either to study or party, and some people, like Nathan an’ me, we did both. We both pledged a fraternity the first year and moved to a frat house, but Nathan insisted on our not havin’ the same room. Gotta admit he was right about that – sooner or later we’d ‘ve got careless and there’s no tellin’ what would’ve happened. We went on datin’ girls just like in high school – if you lived in a frat house, it was like you had a built-in dating service – and I met up with Maggie about that time. That was right after her fiancée got killed and she didn’t have many people to talk about it with – it was just a few years before the big protests about Vietnam started up, ‘specially in the South and most people, if they didn’t have anybody over there they didn’t think about it much. That kinda let me off the hook with dating, I’d told her I was gay early on and everybody just assumed she was my steady girl.

"But Nathan just kept datin’ one girl after another, never went out with any of ‘em for long. That was okay with me. It was okay with our frat brothers too, they just thought he was a rich stud who liked a lotta variety in girls. We’d sometimes stay out all night, especially on football nights, and we found our own special places. There was an old abandoned mill on the river, everybody knew about it and everybody knew what it meant if you went there at night and saw another car parked there. But we also get motel rooms sometimes. Not there in Athens near the university, we’d drive out some of the country highways, even up the interstate a few exits.”

_Those were some of the best nights: speeding down the narrow country highway, sometimes velvet darkness outside, sometimes shafts and scallops of silhouetted trees, here and there an eyewink of light from a far-off farmhouse, windows open to the wisps of fragrance from pine trees, iron-rich red soil, a tarry smell from the stored-up heat of the day rising from asphalt. And later on the interstate, watching the mile marker numbers get smaller and the tension in the car becoming an elastic bond in the space between driver and passenger that threatened to snap at any second, in contrast to the boatlike glide of the car, a gait exclusive to expensive automobiles. It was a regular object lesson in anticipation being the brewing pot that made passion more intense and for David, after all these years, driving at night was still a powerful aphrodisiac._

“I had to leave school in the summer of ‘68, right after my junior year, and that’s when things started to change. My daddy died, it was a stroke, real sudden, and he’d left me the hardware store. I was majoring in business and it just didn’t make sense to keep studyin’ business when I had one and pretty much knew how to run it. Besides, the business was supporting my mom and I figured it was gonna be supporting Dean too; didn’t seem likely he was ever gonna go out on his own. So there I was, 20 years old and with a family to support.

"Nathan stayed in school. He did visit a few times that year and of course he was there for my daddy’s funeral. But after he graduated he moved to Atlanta, got a job at a graphic arts agency. And I guess that’s when it all started to change. That’s when I started pretending it hadn’t.”

David was silent for a few moments, staring absently out at the steadily shrinking horizon where it was hard to tell where the water ended and the slow-churning fog began. Sitting next to David and looking toward him, what Ennis saw was a view of the hill and the city; but he knew that by the time David finished, the fog would thicken and spread out enough that they would both be looking at the same impenetrable grayness. 

He also knew that the memories he’d heard up to this point, both today and in David’s other reminiscences, were nostalgia: a fragment of an old song, a photograph with colors distorted by time, or the faintest fragrance of wood smoke in the fall, all bringing a time long past almost close enough to touch but forever out of reach. David was about to step beyond that into territory that was, like some memories of his own, a road solidly paved with broken glass in some stretches.

“At first, I was busy with the store, getting a place to live in Macon. Of course, he came to the funeral and he’d come back down to Macon for holidays. I went to see him in Atlanta after he’d got settled. We went out to get a drink – not a gay bar, I knew better than that already, even though there were some in Atlanta and I knew where they were. I remember he kept lookin’ around at people, never did seem really relaxed and I knew what that meant but I told myself he’d get over it. After all, you see guys drinkin’ together, hangin’ out together all the time and nobody in the bar was payin’ any attention to us. But if they did – nobody there knew either of us, they wouldn’t ‘ve thought of us as stepbrothers.”

“Like you ‘n me bein’ cousins,” Ennis ventured.

To his surprise, David smiled a little. “There ya go. It comes in handy, we both know that.” He sat a few moments, arms resting on his drawn-up knees, before he went on.

“Sure, I knew as well as Nathan how careful we’d hafta be if we lived together. This was the Deep South, y’know, no different from Wyoming when it came to that I’m sure. Except there were more big cities around, places where we could set up together and blend into the crowd. 

“I’d first brought it up when we were in college. Told him I’d be willing to keep it quiet if that’s how he wanted it. By the time we’d been outta school a few years there were neighborhoods in Atlanta, a few, where you could be out. I knew he wouldn’t want to live in one of ‘em, but I wouldn’t ‘ve cared where we lived. Hell, I even brought up just livin’ near each other as a permanent thing. But anytime I brought it up, he’d insist he wasn’t ‘that way’, as he put it. So I just kept comin’ up to Atlanta weekends, told myself he’d come around, I could wait. Nine years later, I was still waiting.

“For a couple of years I just came up to Atlanta when I could get away, get a motel for a few days. But later on a friend of mine from college hooked me up with Michael, he was about 40 then, lived in Midtown. That was a city neighborhood that was shapin’ up to be a gay neighborhood by that time. Michael was an engineer, specialized in industrial pumps – you know, big hotels, skyscrapers, places like that. He was the one who put me in touch with Vic after I moved here. Michael did inspections so he traveled around a lot and made an agreement – I paid him a hundred bucks a month he let me use his place when he was away. It was a good setup, nice private street and the parking and entrance were in the back.”

Ennis had moved a little closer to David, noticing that the fog now looked less like thin gauze than a solid sheet. The soggy, opaque air had dotted both their faces with saltless tears.

“It got to be a routine,” David went on. “Sometimes when it looked like I could get away, mostly on weekdays I’d call Nathan; sometimes he’d call me. Once in awhile Michael was in town so I’d get a motel room, but we never spent time at his place. Most often, he’d come ‘n’ see me. That went on for years, a regular thing but we never went out together ‘cept to grab a late breakfast a few times. Maggie was livin’ in Midtown for a few years before she moved back up here and sometimes the three of us ‘d go out together. That was before she married Mark – it only lasted about 8 months before he got killed and they fought like cats and dogs outside o’ bed. 

“Once in awhile we’d go out for drinks with the people from the agency, they were okay people. He’d introduce me as his ‘stepbrother’, o’ course. I think some of ‘em knew – I mean, a lot of guys in that business are gay, but I guess they knew Nathan better than to say anything. But by ’75 he’d had got into the club scene and the people he ran with – I wouldn’t call ‘em friends exactly – that was another story.

“I was always paired up with one of the women, to go with the one he was seeing at the moment – not much different from high school and college, except that then, we both knew it was just window-dressing. But now I kept getting’ the impression that Nathan was trying to believe his own publicity. And maybe he did believe it.

”He never stayed involved with any of the women for long, but they didn’t mind really. Coke whores most of ‘em, the men were too – ‘s long as you let ‘em hang out, made the scene in all the fun places and brought out the nose candy regular, they were satisfied. And he could afford it.”

David looked up in time to see the half-quizzical look on Ennis’ face. “That whole club scene in the ‘70s, Atlanta and everywhere else, it was a regular drug buffet. Lotsa college kids were into pot smoking my last year of college, but that was kid stuff at the bars and discos – both the straight ones and the gay ones. For awhile poppers were the thing – that’s amyl nitrate, it was meant for people havin’ angina attacks. Later on it was pills, some to speed you up, some to slow you down, all of ‘em got from doctors. Not all doctors o’ course, but it only took a few and their waiting rooms were always crowded. Nathan tried ‘em all – he knew all the right places to get ‘em from – and by the late 70s everyone on that scene was into cocaine, too.

“Nathan’d always been a drinker, even back in high school, whenever we could get any beer. And in Atlanta, he got into coke real quick. I didn’t do it much on my own; too expensive – there was a joke goin’ around back then: cocaine is God’s way of tellin’ you you’re makin’ too much money. But Nathan could always talk me into at least a line or two on those weekends; everyone once in awhile he’d bring more’n a few and we’d make a night of it. And it wasn’t hard to see how it hooked him.”

_There was no forgetting the body’s response to just a pinch or two of the white powder. It started with your chest feeling like it had expanded into a wind tunnel washed with a cool, refreshing breeze and the powder’s bitter taste was soon forgotten when your perception of the world opened up in a similar way, with everything explainable and nothing you couldn’t control._

At first,” David went on, “it makes you act like you could act if you were really at home in your own skin and on top o’ things all the time. That’s what Nathan’d spent his life tryin’ to do, or at least make people think he was doing. It does less and less of that as time goes on and you keep takin’ it, but you never forget that little taste of what you might be like. So you keep takin’ more, tryin’ to make that feeling come back, even after all it’ll do for ya is make you feel normal for awhile. And there wasn’t any way I could compete with that. People who’re heavy into drugs, they often go off alone to turn on, and sometimes people think that’s because they’re ashamed of bein’ addicted. But that isn’t it at all. They want to be alone with their lover. Not that things didn’t get real hot between us whenever I made that trip up to Atlanta.”

_Whether their reunions took place in the Midtown apartment or in a motel, they were spiced with a sexualized frenzy, driven by half-conscious frustration and of Nathan’s favored combination of Quaaludes followed by the seductive white powder. Sometimes, stoked with a coke appetizer, he’d kick the door shut with his foot as soon as he was over the threshold, pinning David against the nearest wall or door frame while he popped shirt buttons and occasionally broke jean zippers in his impatience to get to bare skin._

"He sometimes had a kind of hangover the next day, at least that’s what it seemed like. He’d wanta leave right away, and a few times he said we shouldn’t ‘meet like this anymore’, that was how he put it. Once he asked me wasn’t I lookin’ to settle down and I said yeah, are you interested? He got upset, said we shoulda grown out of all that, and we would’ve if we hadn’t always been together so much. We went over that more ‘n once, but all it really meant was that I’d better be ready for another roller-coaster ride the next time I saw him.”

The temperature was dropping steeply as the sun went down, and Ennis felt the cold creeping from the sand into his feet soaking from the sand into his feet and up to his ankles.

Life lived in a half-disguise in one place; fully revealed but in bits and fragments in another. Hope deferred again and again and time slipping away quietly enough that its exit was barely noticed. Words left unspoken because of what they might release that could not be recaptured. He couldn’t guess at what more David had to tell him but he had a bone-deep awareness that he was hearing his, and Jack’s slow inexorable slide off the mountain retold in a language only slightly different from his own.

“I just went on with that for a long time, and it was okay at first. Actually, it was more’n that, it was a real turn-on during the week. Goin’ to work, havin’ dinner once a week or so with my mom and Dean, doin’ all that everyday stuff with nobody knowin’ what I did on weekends. I was a sorta cloak-and-dagger thing, a double life. I was still young enough that it was exciting. And young enough, too, to think there was plenty of time for things to change, that everything was gonna work out.

“And I didn’t spend all my time in Atlanta just waitin’ around for Nathan. Midtown got to be a gay neighborhood during those years – something that didn’t even exist when we were growin’ up. I had about a half-dozen neighbors in the building where Michael’s apartment was and I made some friends. And Maggie’d moved to Atlanta not long after I’d left school; lived there in Midtown for a couple of years. She got in with some strange New Age-type people for awhile; we’d meet sometimes in this all-night café in Midtown that was supposed to be a hangout for witches, spend half the night people-watchin’. So I started makin’ a life for myself but I wasn’t really livin’ it with Nathan and that was all I really wanted. And Nathan….. he never got what he wanted, and there was no way I could give it to him.”

Ennis half-wondered if David had forgotten part of his story. “Well…. uh, what was it he wanted?”

“Like I told ya awhile back, Nathan always thought he had to be perfect. No, that’s not quite it. He had to think he was perfect. That’s how Nathan was to start with, and by the time his folks died they’d pretty much turned that up full throttle. And even now, let alone when we were all growin’ up – well, that didn’t include likin’ other men. Nathan mighta got his drinkin’, his weakness for drugs from his granddaddy, but he was from a rich old Southern family and that’s kind of a tradition. Gamblin’, chasin’ women, even bein’ a bit funny in the head, people woulda just said ‘well, that runs in their family you know.’ But bein’ gay….” He didn’t go on but it didn’t matter. Ennis already knew the end of the sentence.


	31. Gift of Exile

“But then,” David said, “We both had our 30th birthdays, that was in ’77. And it was a kinda wakeup call. Here I was, in my 30s now, supportin’ a family but goin’ home alone at night, and I started thinkin’, how long is it gonna go on like this? I didn’t know what to do about me ‘n’ Nathan but I did decide I wasn’t gonna pretend to my family any longer. They were startin’ to ask me when was I gonna get a steady girlfriend, that kinda thing. And I was spending time around people who _didn’t_ pretend, I’m not gonna say none of ‘em paid any price and people I knew who went to the bars and bathhouses every other night, I’d wonder sometimes what they were tryin’ to prove to themselves. But still. . . .   
"Thanksgiving was what I decided on first. That seems to be kinda the traditional day – what?" He stopped momentarily, noticing the startled look Ennis gave him. 

"Yeah," Ennis managed. "Guess so." 

David continued to look at him for a moment. "Well," he went on finally, "when I told Nathan – he freaked. He was plannin’ to be in Macon on , see, and he said ‘we’ve been hangin’ out together all our lives, you tell ‘em that and they’re all gonna look over at me. They’ll all think _I’m_ gay.’ " David gave a short huff of breath and shook his head. 

‘ _You know I ain’t queer_ ’. . . . 

"That should’ve opened my eyes if nothing else did, but I was still not seein’ what I didn’t wanta see. But I guess he did have a point, I would’ve been makin’ that decision for him and I didn’t have a right to do that. So I told him calm down, I’ll do it later. 

"Ended up telling them on New Year’s. ‘Them,’ I mean my mom, Dean, and Gramma Alex was visitin’ that year along with Aunt Carol and Charlene. ‘You’re my grandson, David, nothing’s gonna change that’, was all she said. Maybe she’d always understood about Uncle Steve, I don’t think Aunt Carol had a clue and Charlene, she’d never paid me much attention anyway though she was sure hot for Nathan – hot for his money and his family connections anyway. My mom asked me what was my problem with girls and said I really should ‘get help’. I heard her tellin’ Aunt Carol a little later she thought it was just a ‘phase’, like I was a little kid. They didn’t say much after that day – middle class families are like that sometimes. Somethin’ they don’t wanna hear comes up once, they pretend to forget it afterward. Everything’s all about the . But overall, it didn’t seem as bad as I was expectin’.

“But that was about the end of those regular meet-ups with Nathan. We met a few times for drinks – always with other people there. I still kept comin’ up to Atlanta, even on some weeks when Michael was usin’ his apartment. We got pretty close. He was an older guy, remembered the bad old days pretty well. Kinda reminded me of my Uncle Steve. And I was kinda lonely by that time, even Maggie’d moved back up here a few years before.

“Then one day my mom called me all excited, said that Nathan was engaged to be married! She had them both over to dinner, and of course I went. I’d never met the girl he’d brought; he said he’d met her through one of the people at the agency but she might as well ‘ve been a friend of his family. Lived in Buckhead like Nathan did, went to a private girls’ school. I don’t know if she’d entered any beauty contests like Charlene, but she sure looked like she had. Nothin’ against her, actually she seemed very sweet but together, they looked one of those stock photos they put in new wallets and picture frames.

“Nathan didn’t have much to say to me at that dinner and I didn’t try to get him alone. Didn’t see much of him for months after that. Then in spring of ’79 I went to call him and got no answer, and a few phone calls later I found out why. He and his fiancée had broke up. Supposedly over his drinkin’ and the drugs, I wondered if that was it but that definitely had got out of control. He didn’t have his job any longer – not that he needed it to make a living – and he’d checked himself into a rehab center to dry out. 

“Of course I went to see him right away, and got quite a shock when I saw him. We were born on the same day and he looked ten years older’n me, maybe that’d been happening all along and I hadn’t noticed." 

Ennis saw a glimmer out of the corner of one eye, two tiny dots of light in the thickening fog. He turned just quickly enough to see the catlike eyes of elusive creature he’d seen a few times before, reflecting light in that dense atmosphere where there was little light to reflect. A slight movement and it was gone, but the air suddenly seemed colder and damper and added to the sadness and reflected guilt that David’s story had stirred was a vague and growing dread. 

David was leaning over, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as if he were trying to squeeze the memories out. "O’ course this was in a ritzy drunk tank, you know, so I didn’t expect to see him lookin’ his best. It was the way he acted. He was just so _quiet_ , not just quiet like not sayin’ much, more like. . . there just wasn’t anything he cared to say. He said he was leavin’ the place next week and I asked him to come down to Macon and stay at my place for awhile. ‘Who’s to tell you your stepbrother can’t help you out?’ was how I put it to him and I expected an argument but he said okay. 

"I picked him up a week later and he wanted us to stop by his place so he could pick up his car. No reason he couldn’t drive himself, and I thought he’d just bring some extra clothes but he brought out some paints and art supplies. He’d pretty much stopped painting the past few years. And not just that, before he was always pickin’ up a pen or pencil and just sketchin’ things, kinda like some people hum to themselves a lot. Somewhere in those years that stopped too. He set up his stuff in an extra room by a window and I thought maybe he was workin’ during the day while I was at the store but he didn’t seem to want me to see what he was workin’ on. 

"When I think of all the things I made myself believe, all those years…. and I knew something was really wrong but I kept thinkin’ he’s so run down, he’s got a lot of recoverin’ to do, I’d waited for years, I could wait a little longer. He just seemed to… just accept things as they came. He didn’t seem unhappy – just didn’t seem…. anything. 

"That all came an end toward the end of the summer -- third week in August, a real hot, sticky day. I got home a little early and Nathan wasn’t alone, there was a man I hadn’t met but I knew who he was when Nathan said his name. Lots o’ people in Macon knew who he was. He was a pharmacist, had his own drugstore – the kind where they sell a lot of medical supplies. But he made most of his money in the back sellin’ drugs. He had a rep for hangin’ out with really scuzzy people, rumor was they were into everything from contract killin’ on down. Nathan acted real nervous, I could tell he was tryin’ to get the guy to leave quick and I heard him say I was his stepbrother, he was just down visitin’ for a few days. 

"I don’t know, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was just the last straw after all those years of gettin’ bits and pieces of his time. But I thought, damn, this guy is a sleazoid who’d sell junk to people he knew were close to dyin’ from it; and Nathan was ashamed of me. I was the one he wanted to hide. I just couldn’t take it anymore and God, I got so furious at him. Don’t even remember half of what I said except the last thing – ‘get on with your life without me, I’m done!’ And I left.

“I just went out drinkin’. Real useful, right? But I don’t know what else you do when it finally hits you that you’ve spent years trying for something and have nothing to show for it. Not that it helped – I ended up goin’ back home just feelin’ sleepy and kinda sick. Nathan wasn’t there, and I didn’t even bother goin’ to bed, just lay down on the sofa and passed out. 

“Don’t know how long after that it was – for that matter, I’ll never know for sure if it really happened or if I just dreamed it. But I woke up and Nathan was back. In more ways than one.”

_He half-sat up, body feeling grimy and crumpled, and looked down at Nathan sitting on the floor with his head on the sofa cushions. “Davey. . . .”_

_Somehow, their childhood nicknames of “Nate” and “Davey” had vanished at a vague point between their junior year in high school and their arrival at college, and David had given no thought to either. “I’m still here, Davey. I just had to hide out. . . couldn’t help it.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I messed up. . . this wasn’t what we planned.” David wasn’t sure what he was talking about and said nothing to that; just briefly stroked the disheveled hair that had dimmed from exuberantly blonde to a drab grayish-yellow color._

_“It’s still summer. . . we can go back to Rose Hill. Right?” They had not been there in years, since an otherwise-forgotten spring break when the flowers planted in the cemetery that had broken loose and gone wild were in bloom. “Go back. . . start over. . .“_

_David felt as if he were disintegrating. “Yeah, Nate. We’ll do that.” As recently as yesterday the words themselves would have suggested the arrival at last of what he’d been waiting for; now he understood somehow that they were a leave-taking._

“I never have figured out if he was really there, or if I was dreaming it. Or if he’d come to say goodbye. But I woke up right after that and, God help me, went back to sleep. Never have figured out how much time had passed, but it was daybreak when I woke up.

“I tried to tell myself later, I didn’t know what he was gonna do, but lookin’ back on it – how could I not know? Nathan’d always been so driven, so hyper, always jazzed about something. He wasn’t anything like that those last months, seemed to be just coasting along, but I put that down to his drug problems. But he got so calm, just seemed to take everything as it came…. I’d heard that’s how people get sometimes when they decide to end it themselves, sorta resigned. But I didn’t wanna see it. 

“And maybe I coulda stopped it if I’d followed him but I just didn’t have the juice for it. Passed every car on I-75 all the way up to Atlanta, it’s just 90 miles but seemed to take forever, and I kept telling myself it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, he just went home an’ crashed.

“If he’d taken an overdose of something, maybe I woulda got there in time. But I didn’t find him in his apartment, started to think he didn’t even go home, so I went to check the garage and see if his car was there. . . He’d shut the door, of course, and the engine had run outta gas by the time I got there.

“For a long time I couldn’t remember Nathan like he was when we were sneakin’ out to Rose Hill, or at college, or even in Atlanta afterward – I just had what I saw in that car burned into the back of my eyeballs. Don’t think it took him long to die but he’d thrown up, and his skin…. It looked like... a bad sunburn. Don’t remember much after that, I think it was a neighbor who called the police. That was the worst of it, that morning, but what happened after wasn’t any picnic either.”

_Third week in August ___. One of the few meet-ups where he and Jack had slept and enjoyed each other in a bed instead of on a pile of sleeping bags in a tent; had cooked on a stove instead of over a fire, thanks to Don Vroe’s loan of a cabin. A trivial memory intruded: waking up the first morning to discover that while he’d discovered that he’d forgotten both the bread and bacon he was to bring, and had driven the five miles down to the highway. Oddly, one of the most vivid memories of that trip was the brief unexpected euphoria of the drive back: windows open to the cool, crackling freshness of the morning air, imagining the fragrance of bacon and how Jack always looked shortly after waking up: hair in a thick, soft tangle and eyes still languorous and half-hooded with recent sleep.

_The likelihood of both David’s frantic drive to Atlanta and his own early-morning errand taking place on the same morning, within a few hours of each other at the most, stunned him enough that he almost missed what David said next. That the two experiences took place in the same world, and not in different realms of space and time altogether, was impossible to make any sense of._

_“After I’d come out to my family, I’d figured Dean mighta told some of our relatives, I doubt my mom would’ve. She would’ve told herself “that” just didn’t happen in our family. But they all found out about Nathan by the time of the funeral went down – I found out later that the cops let the family attorney into Nathan’s apartment, and he found a couple of magazines. I don’t know if they were X-rated stuff or just some o’ the body-building magazines we useta look at years ago when we were in high school, but that was enough. My family put two ‘n’ two together. So did Nathan’s family._

_“My brother met me on the front porch when I got to our house in Macon, told me not to come in. I’d thought it was just him that was mad, insisted Mother come out which didn’t take her long – I figure she was listening in the front room. Nathan was about as much my son as he was Sheila’s, she kept sayin’, he never woulda thought of doin’ such a thing if you hadn’t turned him gay. “Cept of course she didn’t say “gay”, she said turned him into a pervert. Bad enough you’re living the way you are, she said, now you took Nathan away from all of us. And she kept sayin’ over and over, how could you do this to me? Like it was something I’d planned. Like she was the only one who’d lost anything._

_"There's so much about that time I'm not proud of- I didn't even want to go to the funeral. I really think he’d 've wanted to be buried in Rose Hill, or cremated and his ashes scattered there, but I didn't have any say in it. They buried him in Arlington Cemetery in Atlanta, in the family plot, and God, I didn't want to sit there and look at that coffin and know that was all that was left of him now._

_"But I went. Partly just out of anger, not proud o' that either. I could just hear all those people chewin' over it if I wasn't there: _why didn't he show up, they grew up together, oh didn't you hear, they were more'n just fnends he's probably ashamed to show his face_. As it was, I know they were disappointed I didn't fall apart, get mad, something they could gossip about the next time they decided to do lunch. I know how people are — they love a show, 'specially when somebody dies. Don't I know it. The whole clan of ‘em, Nathan’s family, showed up at the funeral and they weren’t hardly speaking’ to me any more’n Mother and Dean and a few of our other relatives. They all knew about Nathan and me by then, of course._

_Ennis was puzzled at that. “But you mentioned once – you n’ Nathan hardly ever saw ‘em.”_

_“Never saw was more like it with most of ‘em. But rich people, they’re always connected, it’s like they carry around this gossipy small town with ‘em everywhere they go. Yeah, they knew all right._

_“Don’t know how I woulda sat through it at that, if it weren’t for Gramma Alex. She called and told me what motel she and my aunt were stayin’ at and asked if I’d give ‘em a ride, and she sat with me all the way through it. Afterward, when we were goin’ to the cemetery, Mother and Dean went out to their car without a word to me; Gramma Alex was about the only person there speakin’ to me at all. Well, her and Aunt Carol and Charlene, I could tell she’d let them know they’d better, or else.”_

_He shook his head, with a faint smile. “No one ever knew what ‘or else’ was – they never wanted to know. I’ll always owe my grandmother one for that, it was the reason I went to the wedding. I hadn’t even heard about it – I hardly knew any of the folks in Colorado – but Gramma Alex kept up with all the relatives, and she called and asked if I’d come, said she’d make a few phone calls and get them to send me an invitation. I knew it might be the last time I saw her – it was, as it turned out.”_

_He turned and looked at Ennis, who’d just notice that they were both shivering. “And of course, I’m glad I did – for more than one reason, but I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”_

_Ennis thought of their visit to the Riverton bar after the wedding reception: how deftly David had used just a few smiles and well-chosen sentences to make two men walking into a small-town Wyoming bar together wearing suits and ties seem perfectly natural. In his way, David was as wary as Ennis of the tire iron, and of more genteel bludgeons as well – the sly joke, the avidly curious glance, the just-audible whisper – and had polished and crafted a natural talent into a defense. The fog had now enveloped them so completely that it seemed as if they were two outcasts huddling together for protection in a damp and chilly corner at the edge of the world._


	32. Gift of Exile

Somehow they were no longer sitting on the log but on the cold sand with their backs against it, legs and feet touching. Both were silent for a moment before Ennis answered. 

“ ‘m glad you did. Came ta the wedding, I mean.” 

“You aren’t gettin’ a very good bargain.” 

“I didn’t come here lookin’ for that.” 

“You didn’t come lookin’ for what happened in the kitchen today either, that’s for sure,” David said. “But you came lookin’ for me out here, and I owe ya an explanation. 

“Three days after the funeral, I checked into a motel and just hid. First day I tried to hide from myself at a bar down the street, all that did was give me a hangover, so the rest of the time I just tried to sort it out and not think about goin’ back to Macon. You ever had anybody close to you who killed themselves?” 

“Not that I know of.” _Not surprisin’_ , there had been so few people he’d been close to. 

“Well, somebody once said a suicide kills at least two people, and they were close to right. It’s not like any other kind of death. 

“There’s so many questions you can’t answer and you can’t get away from. I kept thinkin’, maybe my mom was right, I was responsible – oh, not the way she meant it, but maybe I set somethin’ up just by always _being_ there. Around the time I’d decided to come out I did start to think, how long are we gonna go on like this? Are we gonna be 30, 40, 50 and still meetin’ on weekends, him pretendin’ to be straight the rest of the time and me goin’ home to an empty apartment? And I knew he wouldn’t be the one to change anything – it’d have to be me, I’d have to give him a choice and walk away if he didn’t choose me. If I’d done that – who knows, he was always bein’ pulled in two directions and couldn’t go in either one because I was always there, and that might’ve put him in a spot where he couldn’t go in either direction, couldn’t stay and couldn’t run. 

“Could’ve, would’ve, might’ve – I just kept going over everything I could remember again and again but I was gunning an engine in a stuck car and the wheels were goin’ around and around and not gettin’ anywhere but deeper. And there were a few things I couldn’t quite look at but knew were there. I’d thought more’n once about confronting him and I had all kinds of reasons worked out for why I didn’t – but the real reason was, what would I do if I walked away and he didn’t follow? Nathan was at the center of my life as far back as I could remember, having him disappear out of my life – just couldn’t face that.” 

He glanced over at Ennis and gave a brief, soundless laugh. “But of course, in the end that was what happened.” They were both shivering by now, and Ennis could hear the slight quavering in the other man’s voice. 

“There were other things I still haven’t got hold of. Mainly that I would’ve given anything to have Nathan back but at the same time I was just so pissed off at him. Throwin’ everything away, not just the night he died but all the years before that, he had everything in the world and never did a damn thing with it. And I wondered why he couldn’t have made it look like an accident. After all, everybody knew Nathan had drinkin’ and . . . But that just made me start wonderin’ if I’d totally misread that guy being at my place when I came home. What if Nathan had planned to do just that, and my blowin’ up pushed him over the edge? 

“But even that wasn’t the worst of it. The day after I made that trip to Atlanta, I went over to Michael’s place and crashed for about 18 hours. When I woke up. . . . well, in one way it was like havin’ a toothache that hurts even while you’re asleep. But part of me just felt so _relieved_. For years it’d been up and down, up and down, always thinking things hafta be different next year and next year nothing had changed – all that was resolved now. And there was a kind of relief.” 

He looked toward Ennis, who had to make an effort not to look away from the freshly-opened wound behind the other man’s eyes. “How could that be? I loved that man – Nathan was some of everything to me: brother, buddy, lover. . . What kind of man am I that I could feel relieved?” 

Ennis forced out a reply. “You’d had a rough time. Guess that’d be kinda natural.” He mentally stomped on the loathsome stinging insect of a thought before it even made it to the surface: the memory of that whisper in his mind’s ear, _now nobody'll know_. 

“Maybe so, but that’s been the worst part of it to sort out. . . . After three days o’ that, I had to see somebody or go outta my mind. Michael was in town and I went over to his place – he didn’t know the whole story about Nathan but enough. He was a bit older, came of age in the _really_ bad old days and he knew all about the ways people hide. We ended up in bed together – not the first time, I’ll admit that – and nothin’ happened. I stayed on a few more things, same thing happened every time. ‘Dave,’ he finally told me, ‘you’ve just had your life ripped apart and you need to work with that.’ So then I did what I knew I’d have to do sooner or later: went back to Macon and my apartment with so much of Nathan’s stuff still there. 

“It was mostly clothes, shaving stuff, ordinary things. I couldn’t bring myself to throw any of it away, just boxed it up. The last thing I looked at was the side room where he’d been painting – it was a big barn of an old house with bay windows here and there and he’d said he liked the light there. There was just one painting, still sitting on the easel but wrapped up in brown paper like he was gonna mail it someplace, and he’d written “to David” on it. That was all. I unwrapped it and before I even got the paper off, I guessed what it was, Rose Hill like we both remembered it. That was the little bit of. . . grace I was looking for. I’ve kept everything Nathan left at my place but hangin’ those two paintings of his up was the first thing I did when Maggie and I started moving into the house. 

“Right after that Maggie came down to visit. I’d called her right after Nathan died but she was outta town and didn’t get back till after the funeral, and she felt bad about that. I’d already decided I didn’t want to stay in Georgia anymore, but I couldn’t think of anyplace I wanted to go, and she offered me a place to stay. I’ll always owe her for that. So I told her go on home, I’ve got the business to dispose of before I leave. Nathan’s will went through by then, and whatever his family thought of ours nobody disputed it. We all got a chunk o’ money that Nathan had left ‘way back when he was 18; my mom got a double amount because she got what my Dad woulda got. So I met with her an’ Dean and told them I was selling the family business. Doug, that was my assistant manager, he’d managed to buy a quarter-share and in a way, I wished he could buy all of it. But I told my mom and Dean they had a choice: use Nathan’s money to buy me out and live on the income from the store or they were on their own. I wouldn’t be supportin’ them anymore.” 

The harsh words were undercut by the sadness in David’s voice. “You know, that was one of the worst parts of it,” he added, “how it destroyed the past. There’d been good memories. Holidays, especially Christmas, cookouts we all had when Tom and Sheila were alive, all those camping trips with my Dad – he was such a sweet guy, Ennis, never stood up to Mother, though. I still miss him but I’m glad he was gone before all this happened. And there we were, sitting across a table in a law office, signing the papers and not even looking at each other. 

“Anyway, it ended up taking a month or two before I got all that tied up. I went to see Michael a few more times – same thing happened. After that I tried a few times with strangers, guys I met in bars, same thing. And every time, it got tougher to tell myself it’d be better next time, so since then I haven’t been with anybody except myself. 

“By the time Gramma Alex called and asked me to come to that wedding, though, things had got better. I could think of Nathan like he was when we were growin’ up, when we had such good times together in college. And I’d made a pretty good life here, got a business, a home, made some friends. That included Vic, I was tellin’ you the truth that we’d never been together, though he was sure interested for awhile. I’ve wondered now and then if Nathan might’ve turned out like Vic if. . . . well, no need to waste time with any more ‘ifs’. But I didn’t mean to lead you on, Ennis, I’m a damaged man but the way we seemed to know each other right away. . . I’d think ‘it’s gonna be different now’ but every time we got close I’d get cold feet again.” 

“You don’t seem so bad ta me,” Ennis managed. “Seemed like you did the best you could.” 

“Maybe I did, maybe I just told myself it did. But whichever, it wasn’t enough.” 

It was now, Ennis knew, or never again that he’d have the nerve to tell David the truth. “Thought I’d done the best I could too,” he ventured. “I'd told ya before, me an’ Jack couldn't manage ta live together -- wasn't really us that couldn't. He wanted us ta get a ranch, said it'd be a sweet life. I told him it couldn't be that way. Told him it was dangerous and it was, but. . . . He had a plan for us ta build a cabin at his folks' ranch up in Lightning Flat, that's way up near the Montana line. Help run the place. I didn't know about it till I visited his folks after he was gone and his dad told me. The old man was a real sonofabitch, but it could a worked. But Jack never told me, and I know why. He just got tired a me turning him down, hearin me say it ain’t gonna be that way.” 

Each gave the other a cautious, questioning look, half-hopeful, half-wary. “Then you did your best too,” David said. “Maybe we can… let off…” It tapered off in a half-coherent murmur, and Ennis thought he heard tears in David’s voice, but a close look told him differently. David was now visibly shivering; his face was pale and his voice slightly slurred; and years of working outdoors in severe weather had taught Ennis to recognize the warming signs of hypothermia, which could invisibly wrap itself around a human body and chill the life out of it. 

Without a word he got up and hauled David to his feet, noting as they moved away from the shoreline that the cold-fire eyes were still visible, watching them a little further off in the fog. The houses along the beach had become all but invisible, and he sensibly headed inland until the ground began to slope upward and then turned right, arriving at the foot of the steps. 

It seemed to take forever to get up to the house, and then up the stairs. Ennis had to struggle to maneuver David to keep moving, as David was getting groggy and kept pulling away from him, muttering irritably. Ennis knew that to be a bad sign; and he persisted, feeling as if he was dragging a wounded comrade off a battlefield to a place of safety. 

For a moment or two during the interminable climb, he thought of the ramshackle house in Sage, the hazy memory of it being a zone of safety and security, and of the people in it being set apart from the rest of the world in that they knew, and were intimately known, by everyone else. That began to dissolve after he was about four years old, when his mother’s fear of his father became noticeable and when he started getting slaps and bruises, “ta make you hear good”, for childish offenses. That feeling of refuge had returned briefly in the early years of his marriage, at least during the intervals he wasn’t thinking much about Jack. The house whose lighted windows his eyes were now fixed on was the first place he’d lived since then that was more than a place to eat and sleep, and it was the man he was pulling along with him that had made it that way. He would not let David vanish out of his life the way Jack had, and his parents, and his daughters’ childhoods: _ain’t gonna be that way_. 

By the time they’d reached the second-story entrance of the house, Ennis was shaking with both tension and exhaustion as much as cold. Finally in David’s bedroom, he was relieved that they were now out of the mists’ reach but knew that the danger to David was far from past. He glanced toward the bathroom but discarded the idea of a hot shower as soon as he thought of it. That would deal with a simple chill, but here it could cause a fatal rush of the blood to the surface of the skin; and he knew that the body could not survive without an alert brain and a warm heart. 

The best way to get any warmth into David was to give him his own. He pulled down the bed covers and stripped off first David’s damp clothes and then his. David neither resisted nor responded as Ennis helped him lie down and stretched out beside him, pulling the thick comforter over both of them and partially covering their heads. 

For more than an hour they lay naked and clasped together in the improvised grotto, each with the other’s breath whispering in one ear, nipples and bellies and groins fitted together and legs entwined. David’s body gradually stopped shaking, although he was seized with a few of the jerky shudders that often overcome people while warming up from a severe chill. Ennis discovered that his head had been spinning only when it steadied, and David’s shallow breathing began to deepen. 

Only half-aware he was doing so, Ennis slid one foot up David’s ankle at the same time that he ran one hand up David’s back and back down to his waist, first rubbing lightly to warm up the still chilled skin. It wandered up over the cold-hardened nipples, his body’s memory noting the silky chest hair, more abundant than Jack’s, and the shorter waist. As if learning David’s body by sense of touch alone, his hand then glided down one arm, seeming to feel each hair separately, tracing the veins on the back of the hand and the fingers, shorter and a little wider than Jack’s. 

Different from Jack’s, but feeling the same in a mysterious way. The slight roughness of a man’s skin, the broad chest that sloped down to the waist, the hips that flared out slightly instead of curving, the more angular jaw line that his lips were suddenly tracing – there was a completeness in it for him that had never been there with Alma or Cassie, not unlike the satisfaction of a meal that not only filled the belly but had exactly the nutrition the body craved. 

David’s hands slid up to grip his shoulders. “God. . . .” he whispered, “mercy. . .” The spell was broken briefly when one of his feet brushed against Ennis’ calf and Ennis gave an involuntary yelp. “Still cold. . . . I’ll take care of that,” and he slid down toward the end of the bed, pushing the comforter on his side out of the way. He rubbed both feet lightly, then his mouth moved up the instep with tiny exploratory nibbles and progressed leisurely up the ankle and muscular curve just above it. He ran his tongue over the tender flesh on the back of one knee, and heard David groan as his legs parted slightly. They were both slipping into an erotic trance: Ennis caught up in exploring David’s body inch by inch and David’s whole universe narrowing, for the time being, to Ennis’ right hand as it slipped up the back of his thigh to stroke the half-hidden, exquisitely sensitive region at the intersection of leg and buttock. 

He moved up slightly, aware of the slight swelling and hardening between David’s legs but even more acutely conscious of the tightening and ache in his own loins. As often as he’d sweated over his fantasies of tantalizing Jack in exactly this way, he hadn’t anticipated either the perversely delicious pleasure of holding himself back nor the excruciating difficulty of it. He thought fleetingly that if it hadn’t been such a long, stressful day this would have already been over; but his speculations were forgotten as his tongue slowly surveyed the already hardening tips of David’s nipples and then moved up and over to nuzzle under one armpit. 

By now the slight swelling he’d felt was unmistakably a solid, engorged cock pressing against his thigh. “Shit,” David gasped, “no more. Now. . .” He pulled Ennis’ hand down between his legs but Ennis eluded him and slid his hand around to massage the clenching buttock and thigh muscles. 

David’s back arched slightly and he lifted his head, only to immediately jerk it back onto the pillow. In the dim light of the one lamp on the other side of the room, Ennis saw his face, almost gray when they’d started up from the beach, now flushed and his mouth now looking slightly inflamed. He locked his own mouth onto David’s his tongue slipping between David’s lips and brushing lightly over the roof of his mouth just inside his teeth. He withdrew his tongue when David tried to draw it further into his mouth, only to slide the tip tantalizingly in and out until David buried his fingers in Ennis hair and pulled his mouth forward. 

Their breath mingled for a few moments, and again Ennis felt that same sense of wholeness, of being in exactly the place he was meant to be, with another man’s breath in his mouth and a man’s strong fingers buried in his hair and half-imprisoning his head. He felt his own cock pulsating urgently and knew he was close to the end of his endurance. 

Pulling away, he slid back down and burrowed his head between David’s parted legs, inhaling a carnal, fleshy odor vaguely like rich, moist soil at the roots of a tree in a humid forest. As his lips closed around now rigid shaft, its tip already slick, and moved downward what he felt filling his mouth was something a firm but sensuous fruit, ripening at warp speed and swollen to bursting with pungent juice and burgeoning seeds. 

He’d done this only a few times with Jack, but the memory of the erotic brew of scents was clear: the sharp odor of sweat mingled with fainter ones vaguely like damp leather and cheese. He pulled his head rapidly up and down to keep up with David’s thrusts, his hands now squeezing first the clenching and unclenching muscles in David’s ass. And that, too, fell naturally into place: another man’s muscles and power matched with his own. He heard David’s half-groan, half-shout a second before the thick, ammoniac liquor filled his mouth and spilled over. 

For a few moments they both lay breathing raggedly, like two evenly-matched wrestlers. Then David slid slightly down and drew his legs up, pulling Ennis toward him. 

“I want you inside me. Now,” he whispered hoarsely. Ennis rose and leaned over him and as David’s body received and embraced his, the release and relief were so intense as to be almost agonizing. 

As they finally fell away from each other, the grueling and soul-exhausting day caught up with both of them and sleep came suddenly in a tangle of arms, legs, drying sweat and bedclothes. But each of them woke up during the following hours, and found the other also awake. Together they built walls of erotic tenderness around both remembered grief and recollections that were still too close and whose edges were still too sharp. 

Before sleep overtook him for good, Ennis listened to the now-familiar sound of loons calling to each other across the water on the Lake. He was accustomed enough now to their voices to know that the fog had lifted.


End file.
